


Broken Masks

by DontOffendTheBees



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: (mostly), (only in like one chapter though so don't get your hopes up), Angst, Canon Compliant, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren goes to Simon looking for cold comfort- but the encounter does little to help his gloom and adds guilt and conflicted feelings to boot. Can he trust Simon Monroe, or is he just fooling himself once again? Angsty Siren multi-chapter, with extra guilt and confusion (AKA the basis of this entire stupid ship, WHY am I in this fandom?) Starts up at the end of S2 E3, S2 spoilers. Mostly canon (filling in the gaps). Also available to read on ff.net.</p><p>COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have fallen hard for Siren (even though I'm about 99% sure it's gonna end in tears!), so here's my contribution to the sadly lacking ITF fanfic archives! First few chapters are going to stick very closely to the canon, basically the last episode or two written in more detail from Kieren and Simon's POV, but if this series breaks my heart I'm gonna write my way around it to come to some kind of happy ending so I can live the rest of my life in denial! Feel free to join me xD 
> 
> Kicks off at the end of S2 E3, so if you haven't watched series two yet there are MANY spoilers ahead! You have been warned!
> 
> Music lyrics used in all these chapters are all from songs by Gabrielle Aplin- her music is so perfect for Siren that it makes me cry so I'm bookending each chapter with lyrics from whichever song best fits the theme of the chapter, so skim the italics at the beginning and end if you're not interested!
> 
> Well, enjoy!

_"I left you out in the English rain_

_To soak you through and dilute the blame_

_Don't ever want to hear those words today_

_You made me high then you swooped so low_

_From a hummingbird to a silent crow_

_I was on your side but then I saw it change"_

-'November' _,_ Gabrielle Aplin

* * *

_Whatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoing?!_

Kieren's conscious mind assaulted him with angry, unanswerable queries while the unconscious part took the reins and launched his body forward. His parted lips collided with Simon's in an unprecedented act of courage. Or stupidity. Both, in fact.

_Idiotidiotidiot!_

He couldn't hear the internal screaming over the feeling of cold lips against his own; surprised at first but then opening, yielding. The inner cacophony was muffled by the feeling of cool hands creeping up to the back of his head, clasping his neck and holding him close. His traitorous body was only too happy to stay put while his mind fizzled with a confusing storm of pleasure and apprehension. His guilt-ridden conscience occupied itself by compiling a handy list of all the reasons this was a _terrible_ life decision.

_1) Amy. If she found out about this you'd break her heart and lose her._

_2) Simon. You know nothing about him (aside from he has_ fantastic _lips- stop it! Bad thought.) and you have no idea what he's after, how he feels about you or if he's even trustworthy._

_3) Rick. He may be gone but that doesn't mean you're over him, and it doesn't mean you're ready for someone new._

_4) You. You're not thinking straight. You've had a bad day, you miss Rick, you're lonely and so far Simon's the only person you've seen who hasn't been treating PDS sufferers like animals, which is really no reason to attack him so get off._ Now _._

He finally pulled away, planting his hands on Simon's chest and pushing off to put a few inches of space between them. His breaths puffed out in ragged bursts. He had a moment to consider how laboured breathing after intense kissing seemed to be so instinctual it transcended death and the lack of need for oxygen before Simon spoke up, his voice rough.

"What was that all about?" He rasped with a soft chuckle, his hands still resting lightly on Kieren's shoulders. "Not that I'm complaining."

Kieren blinked several times, trying to clear the fog from his mind as he felt Simon's gaze scrutinising him. He wished for a moment that Simon would just wear his contacts for once instead of staring him down with his impenetrable gaze; his milky eyes remained completely unreadable. Kieren fidgeted and slowly lifted his hands from where they clasped Simon's chest, making a half-hearted show of smoothing his shirt, racking his brains for an answer before finally mumbling: "…Tough day."

Simon raised his eyebrow, and Kieren could have sworn he saw a flicker of disappointment in his shielded eyes. The look was gone before he could even be sure he'd seen it. "So, out for a little stress relief?"

"Yes. No! I-" Kieren fumbled, hands flying away from Simon to wrap around his own torso anxiously. He turned away, unable to form a coherent thought with that piercing gaze dissecting him. He was just about to make another floundering attempt at explaining himself when he heard the creak of bed springs and a familiar voice from another room.

"Simon?" Amy's voice rang out, making both men jump guiltily. "Simon, who is it?"

Simon gave Kieren a long look before calling out. "It's Kieren. Looks like there's some trouble in the woods, some of those ex-HVF nutters have found some rabids," he lied smoothly, his eyes never leaving Kieren's face. "I'd better go and help, see to it they're properly treated."

"Need me to come?"

"No, that's fine, Amy!" Kieren called a little too quickly. "You get some sleep, we'll handle it!"

Amy's head poked out from round the corner, and Kieren cast another guilty glance at Simon, quietly hoping his cover-up mousse hadn't too obviously transferred itself to the other man's lips. Amy smiled cheerfully at them both, and Kieren was too preoccupied with suppressing his own nervous ticks to think much about the way her hand trembled slightly on the doorframe.

"Of course you will- my big, strong men!" she said, her affectionate smile making Kieren's guilt burn hotter. "Take care of yourselves out there, eh? Bring Mymon back in one piece, K. Can't have my future husband getting shot in the head!"

Kieren winced, but hid it as best he could with a smile. "Will do, Amy."

Amy nodded, lowering her trembling hand and retreating back towards her room. "Night, night, boys!"

"Night," they grunted in unison, before spinning round and heading wordlessly to the door, slamming it behind them loud enough for Amy to hear it from her room. They were barely off the doorstep before Kieren rounded on Simon with fire in his eyes.

"Why haven't you talked to her yet?" he demanded, too angry to remember to feel awkward.

Simon exhaled sharply and glared. "I told you, there's nothing to talk about."

"Well,  _clearly_ there is!" Kieren snapped.

Simon huffed and grabbed his elbow, dragging him a bit further from the front door so Amy wouldn't hear his outburst. He brought them to a halt beneath a lamppost at the end of the block and kept his grip on Kieren's arm, staring coolly into his mismatched eyes.

"Kieren, what do you want me to say?" he asked calmly. "Do you want me to march right back there now and tell her she's been deluding herself? Tell her I've never loved her like that and never will? How well do you think that'll go down?"

Kieren blinked against the dry feeling in his eyes, the closest his undead body could come to tearing up. He struggled feebly to pull his arm from Simon's grip, not really caring if he succeeded or not. "She's my friend…"

_And I betrayed her…_

"I know," Simon said, his grip relaxing. "I don't want to hurt her, either. Best to just let her have her fantasies. She's happier this way."

Kieren yanked his arm away and took two steps back, still face to face with Simon. "It's not right. You can't just keep leading her on like this! If you really love her like you say you do, you'd tell her the truth."

Suddenly Simon was in front of him again, their bodies a scant few inches apart. "I thought I made myself clear, Kieren Walker: I don't lead people on."

Kieren gulped and resisted the urge to close the distance between their lips, crossing his arms more tightly over his chest and meeting Simon's gaze calmly. "Let's agree to disagree."

Simon cocked his head to the side, taking in Kieren's rumpled appearance and smudged cover-up. "You never told me why you came to me."

"I don't know," he said semi-truthfully. He certainly knew why he'd gone looking for comfort: seeing your own kind imprisoned, mistreated and nearly shot with barely a thought was enough to make you angry at best and downright depressed at the worst. A part of his quietly accepting façade had cracked, manners went out the window as his downtrodden egocentric side demanded he do something for himself for once. Why that something happened to be _kissing Simon_ was anyone's guess. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"I shouldn't have come," he muttered, dropping his arms and turning to leave. "Sorry, I don't know what I was-"

" _Kieren!_ "

He felt a hand clasp around his wrist, tugging him gently but insistently. He turned back, weighing up the pros and cons of just yanking his hand away and storming off, but the look in Simon's dead eyes made him pause and catch his unnecessary breath.

He looked almost desperate, his usually indifferent face open and vulnerable. He glanced down at the floor as Kieren looked on in astonishment, tightening his fingers on his wrist and lightly tracing the puckered scar as he attempted to cover up his lapse in decorum. When he looked back up his usual guarded expression was back, only somehow softer.

"Don't leave," he said quietly, eyes flickering to Kieren's and then back to the floor. "Not like this."

Kieren barely noticed his wrist sliding from Simon's grasp, away from his gentle caress and hanging in the air between them, their fingers lightly brushing against each other. "What do you want, Simon?" he asked more calmly than he felt, leaving the unspoken question hanging in the air by their slowly twining hands.

_Who are you?_

Simon met his gaze once again, and for a second Kieren forgot about Amy and Rick and the Second Rising. Right now, Simon wasn't a man on a mission or a leader or a fanatic. He saw only one thing reflected those eyes, and felt his cold, dead heart jump as the word rasped through barely parted lips.

"You."

Simon's cool fingers caught his own, tugging him round as he closed the distance between them. Their lips were mere millimetres apart when Kieren flinched back, doubt once again rearing its ugly head, running through his internal checklist at lightning speed.

_Amy, guilt. Simon, trust. Rick, regret. Me, alone._

"Bad idea…" he murmured, frozen in place.

"Want me to stop?" Simon said, his free hand hovering at Kieren's waist, heavy-lidded eyes carefully examining the tense lines of his face. Reading him like a book, no doubt.

_Yes. Absolutely. Bad, bad idea._

"No."

Their lips clashed once more, open and eager, and for the second time that night Kieren allowed the curiously comforting feeling of Simon's body against his to quash his misgivings. He felt an arm wind around his waist, and automatically reciprocated with his hand at Simon's neck, his fingers tangling in his short black hair. It was a new kind of kiss, worlds apart from the nervous embraces he'd shared with Rick, and the part of him that wasn't wallowing in guilt marvelled at how easy it felt. Though Simon remained a mystery to him, the way he kissed him left Kieren with no doubt that he _wanted_ him. No guilt, no fear, no anger- just want. Possibly something deeper, if Simon was even capable of feeling that way about people, but Kieren had enough of a headache already without adding the 'L' word into the equation. He wasn't even sure if  _he_  was ready for that, or if he'd ever be ready for it again. For the moment he closed his eyes and let the wave of sensations wash over him. He shivered as he felt Simon's hand release his and slide up his back, settling just below his shoulder blades and pulling him tight against his body. He barely noticed as the first drops of rain began to fall, peppering their clothes and hair with glistening dots, gleaming in the yellow light of the streetlamps.

Kieren pulled away with a gasp as a droplet landed below his eye, running down his cheek with the eerily familiar feeling of a rolling tear. He blinked, his senses coming back into play one by one and his mind launching back into overdrive.

Before he could so much as get a word out Simon's lips were on his cheek, softly kissing the raindrop away. The action was so intimate it made Kieren's insides squirm a little, although he couldn't work out if it was a pleasant sensation or more akin to a knot of fear. Simon leaned back and saw the incredulous (and somewhat anxious) expression on his face and laughed quietly to break the silence.

"Made you look sad," he explained, reluctantly removing his hands from Kieren's torso and holding them at his sides in an attempt to put him at ease. "Don't like to see you looking sad."

Kieren nodded slowly, trying not to let on how much the words made him want to just melt back into Simon's arms for a little longer. He took a few steps back, hesitantly extracting his fingers from Simon's now dishevelled hair. "I should go," he said quietly, sticking both his hands deep into his pockets and shrinking back in on himself.

Simon nodded understandingly, disappointment flickering across his face before he composed it into a more sympathetic expression. He raised his hand and rested his fingers gently on Kieren's cheek where more raindrops were collecting beneath the white of his exposed eye. Kieren thought about flinching away. He surprised them both by leaning into the comforting touch instead.

"Talk to Amy…" Keiren whispered, although he already felt he knew Simon well enough to know he would do no such thing.

"I'll see what I can do," Simon said, noncommittally. Just as he'd expected. Untrustworthy, that's what he was. Now and possibly forever. If Kieren knew what was good for him, he'd get out right now.

He never was particularly skilled at self-preservation.

Kieren nodded sadly, placing his hand over Simon's and pulling it away from his face. His fingers lingered a moment before letting go and disappearing back into his pocket. He set off on the well-trodden path to home, brushing Simon's shoulder as he passed and trying to ignore the painful sense of separation he felt as the distance between them widened. He knew that if he turned around he'd find Simon still watching him. So he resolutely kept his back turned until he was around the corner and out of his sight line, before leaning heavily against a wall.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He let the rain fall against his partially covered face in an imitation of the tears his putrefied tear ducts were too dry to produce, washing away the lingering warmth on his lips along with the remains of his fragile mask.

 _What are you_ doing _…_

* * *

_"I always used to love November_

_But now it always floods with rain_

_I always used to love November_

_But now it always floods with rain_

_Oh how can I forgive?_

_Those words will stain forever"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE JUST BE HAPPY, ALL OF YOU!!!!!!
> 
> Well, hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will cover the first half of E4- so we're gonna get more kissing in the street, yay :3 See you then!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, immediate update! Enjoy because this will NOT happen often! This chapter covers the first half of E4, so spoilers for those who haven't seen the episode! Enjoy! :D
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

* * *

_"I've always asked for nothing but you've found it hard to see_

_So I gathered all I had and laid it down before your feet_

_I gathered all I had_

_So how do you feel today?_

_How do you feel today?_

_'Cause tonight I'm closing all the doors_

_So stay outside or lay down with our flaws_

_How do you feel today?"_

-'How Do You Feel Today?', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

Kieren strode through the streets as briskly as his stiff limbs could take him- his muscles never had been quite the same since he'd crawled from his coffin. As he traipsed ever closer to the familiar bungalow, he considered exactly how he would confront his best friend and his kind-of sort-of secret boyfriend when he got there.

Complaining was the first thing that came to mind. Complain about Simon's blatant disregard for the authorities that would happily make the unlife of himself and his new gang of  _au naturale_  lackeys a living hell- well, _more_ of a living hell than it was now. Complain about the radical attitude that was going to bring them nothing but trouble. Complain about his reluctance to make things clear with Amy earlier so they wouldn't have to sneak around, because frankly Kieren had done enough sneaking around with Rick to last both of his lifetimes.

Oh, _there_ was the guilt again. A familiar two-pronged attack of Amy-guilt and Rick-guilt. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take- as he had fatally proven not four years ago, Kieren couldn't handle a guilty conscience.

 _Decision time_ , he told himself silently as the bungalow came into view. He paused at the end of the street, catching his redundant breath as he considered his options.

_Option A: Keep seeing Simon and tell Amy about it. At least you're being honest about your dishonesty (if that even makes any sense)._

_Option B: Stop this thing before it goes any further. It was only a couple of kisses, if you call it quits now before it can get more serious you might not even need to tell Amy._

Kieren cringed as he realised that he didn't much like the idea of options A  _or_ B. It was pretty easy to tell what he  _should_  do. The noblest course of action would be to tell Amy, beg her forgiveness, and call it quits with Simon before anyone got any more hurt. The problem with that plan was the very likely chance of losing them both. Better to lose one friend than two, surely?

"Coward…" he muttered as he approached the door.

_Amy's your best friend. Simon's a strange man with unknown motives who you barely know. It's pretty obvious what you should do._

Kieren nervously fixed his hair on the doorstep, his logical mind bellowing the sensible 'break it off and save a friendship' option at him. He wished he could listen to it.

Unfortunately, for reasons he couldn't even _begin_ to fathom right now, he  _really_ did not want to give Simon up.

_Then tell her._

He took a deep breath, a pointless but calming motion, and pressed the doorbell. He waited expectantly, hoping Simon would answer- if possible he'd like to talk to him first. His stomach did little somersaults at the thought of seeing him again, his lips tingling with the memory of their fevered kisses in the rain. He could go for one of those right about now.  _Jesus, Walker, control yourself._

A few tense seconds later, the door swung open and he was greeted by the beaming face of Amy Dyer.

"Look at you, all done-up and adorable!" she exclaimed fondly, enveloping him in a warm (figuratively speaking) hug, pressing her chin against his newly fixed hair affectionately.

"Oh. Hi, Amy," he said, his resolve draining the second he saw the cheerful grin meant just for him. He floundered hopelessly for a way to tell her that her kind-of sort-of betrothed had cheated on her with her BDFF that wouldn't hurt her feelings or make her feel betrayed.

… _Nope, drawing a blank. I'm a terrible person._

She nodded at him to come in and he brushed past quickly, avoiding eye contact as much as possible as she closed the door behind him. He was about to ask her where Simon was when he heard a vaguely familiar voice coming from the living room.

"That's what happened the night that I rose," a man's voice said quietly, and Kieren rounded the corner to find a small congregation clustered around Simon's reclining figure. Kieren leaned against the doorframe and surveyed the scene as the man on Simon's right concluded his story. "That's everything. That's all I remember."

"Oh, yeah," Amy whispered, leaning her chin on Kieren's shoulder snugly. "You're late for church."

"Thank you, Brian," Simon's smooth voice broke the quiet, his eyes studying the fair-haired man knowingly. "It's a great feeling, isn't it?" he swept his gaze to the rest of the gathering, his eyes lingering on Kieren a second before once again addressing his constituents. "You know why?"

Their eyes never left his face as he answered his own question, his carefully chosen words captivating his audience effortlessly. "Because the living have tried to control us with shame."

Kieren watched the disciple, carefully masking his disappointment and wearily resigning himself to another dose of creepily religious, anti-human propaganda. He really wished Simon would just give it a rest. Just for a day or two. He kept his fingers mentally crossed that the disciple might at least drop the act when they were alone.

 _Alone._ His stomach fluttered again. He squashed down the lustful feelings by concentrating on Simon's words and their meaning, carefully ignoring the inherent sexiness of the voice itself.

"Telling our rising stories…" Simon continued, and Kieren was too caught up in listening to his worryingly alluring sermon to pay much mind as Amy slipped away from his side. "Is where we start to say no. If we are serious about becoming free," he raised his hand and brought his finger down firmly on the arm of his chair, pinning each member of the congregation with his piercing gaze as his coercive voice held them in place. "The first shackle we have to throw off…"

His eyes remained turned to the risen at his feet, but Kieren felt his last words hit him like a punch in the gut.

"Is  _shame_."

Kieren stared at him accusingly as his captive audience burst into enthusiastic cheers and cries. He felt like the words were aimed at him- whether they were referring to Kieren's refusal to shed the cover-up or his insistence that they tread carefully around Amy he wasn't sure, but knowing Simon it was probably both. It was a definite dig, and he did not approve. Simon met his gaze for a second, but offered no further response as he returned his attention to the excitable flock.

"No Rising story should be left untold," he stated firmly. He smiled persuasively at his adoring crowd one last time before standing up, thanking Brian once more as he picked his way across the packed living room to the doorway and Kieren's disapproving face. He smiled charmingly, apparently choosing to disregard the daggers in the younger man's eyes. "You made it," he said quietly, nodding back at the chattering group. "Welcome."

Kieren stared at him incredulously. He couldn't understand him. This strange, charismatic, confusing man who looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen one minute and then publicly called him out on his naivety the next. Who, even after all they been through, _still_ insisted on perpetuating this ridiculous cult-leader stereotype that Kieren so despised. Kieren's brow furrowed and he replied to the disciple's efforts to suck him into the anti-human group fun with one word.

" _Seriously_?"

He turned on his heel and strode towards the kitchen, expecting Simon to follow him.

He wasn't disappointed.

 

* * *

 

"Jesus, Simon," Kieren said grouchily as they emerged into the kitchen. Simon watched his every move, drinking him in. Kieren continued to pace, unaware of the dark haired man's quiet admiration. "To think I thought you might cut back on the preacher bullshit with me now we've-" he gulped as nerves and guilt caught up to him again. He ceased his pacing and sighed, leaning back against the stove. "Nevermind. By the way, they're making a list of non-compliants," he said, changing the subject and sliding his hands into his pockets. "So not showing up to Give Back probably  _isn't_ the great idea you think it is."

Simon rolled his eyes. The boy's sarcasm was something he was getting used to. His constant conformity to the rules and barriers laid down on him by those who despised him was something he desperately wished he  _wasn't_ getting used to. It saddened him to see any Redeemed, let alone a young, intelligent, vibrant person like Kieren Walker crushed by the system and conditioned to the point where they don't realise how little control they really have over their own lives. He was a victim of insidious government-sanctioned oppression, they all were. And the idea of Kieren as a victim of anything or anyone filled Simon with more anger than he'd felt in a long time. He was trying to pinpoint the exact moment he'd developed this protective attitude to the youth when something Kieren was saying caught his attention.

"My followers?" he asked, eyeing the young man appraisingly.

Kieren shifted his position slightly, glancing towards the (ironically named) 'living' room where they'd left the rest of Simon's herd. "All these brainwashed people everywhere."

 _Brainwashed?!_ Simon raised his head and set his jaw firmly. "Why?" he asked, taking a step closer. "Because they have something to believe in?" he raised his hand and rested it gently but confidently on the side of Kieren's neck, ignoring the enticing way he squirmed under his hand and the little smile that crossed the boy's face momentarily in order to speak his mind.

"To me, Kieren," he said calmly, meeting his gaze resolutely, torn between loving and hating the sweet naivety reflected in his eyes. "You're the one that's brainwashed, just over a longer period."

Kieren's obliging smile turned to one of amused cynicism and he shrugged away from Simon's hand. "Yeah, don't do that," he said.

Simon looked at him with wide eyes, mildly surprised. "What am I doing?"

"Whatever conversion technique you're trying," Kieren said accusingly, the last of the sweetness gone from his face as he confronted the disciple angrily. "I'm just, I'm not up for it!"

Simon shook his head, his lips tilting into an amused smile. "I'm not doing anything to you."

Kieren shook his head vehemently, his face a mask of flustered exasperation. "You know what's  _so_ annoying?" he burst out, apparently forgetting about carefully choosing his words and handing control to the long-suppressed angry eighteen year-old within. He kept blinking, shaking his head and turning his head from Simon's face to his chest and back to his face again as he rambled. "Is that you could be great… if you could just be a  _normal_ person for  _two seconds!_ "

He shrugged away from the stove and brushed past Simon's shoulder on the way to the door. Simon felt a sense of panic overwhelm him for a second. He couldn't let him leave. Not like this, not in the middle of a fight. Who knew when he'd see him again if he left now? He whipped round to see Kieren almost at the door, his voice barking across the room after him.

"What do  _normal_ people do?" he asked, feeling the knot of tension dissolve slightly as his words caused Kieren to halt in his tracks, his hand on the door handle and his face bathed in the sunlight from the window. Simon shrugged in frustration. "I'm serious!" he said pleadingly.

He saw Kieren sigh heavily and Simon lowered his voice, looking away from the strikingly youthful face by the window as he considered his words. "I'm serious," he said again, turning his eyes towards the floor as the truth of what he was about to say made his dead heart ache. "Tell me what you want," he said, turning back to find Kieren facing him once again, dark-lensed eyes shining in the sun. "I'll do anything I can to give it to you," Simon said, his face melting into a smile as he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

He slowly began to step forward, his eyes meeting Kieren's and trying desperately with just a look to tell the incredulous man that he was speaking the truth. "Because there's what I believe…" he said, staring intently at the handsome, open young face he'd been so drawn to from the moment he'd seen it across the graveyard on that first day. He laughed softly at himself, a genuine smile breaking across his face. His expression softened and he tried to convey as much honesty as he could through his dead eyes, his putrefied heart melting at the look Kieren was giving him.

"…and then there's you," he finished, holding Kieren's gaze, telling him he meant every word and praying that he would believe him.

"Okay?" Simon said quietly, almost to himself, taking a moment to reconcile himself with the gaping hole he'd just opened in his usually impenetrable defences. He looked back at Kieren's face, hoping to see any kind of sign that his moment of weakness wasn't going to be thrown back in his face, and found himself captivated by the way he could practically see Kieren's mind working behind his wide, appraising eyes. "Okay," he muttered again, tentatively hopeful, his head leaning slightly in. Blank, impassive, Kieren watched his face, his eyes flickering down to his lips and back to his eyes. Taking the hint, Simon began to close the distance.

But then Kieren's eyes shot to the side, and Simon straightened his back and let him brush past as the sound of footsteps down the hall alerted them to another presence. They broke apart just as Amy appeared in the doorway, keeping their eyes resolutely turned away from each other.

"No."

Kieren started guiltily, and Simon tried not to feel hurt by the honest regret he saw in his eyes as he turned to Amy.

"You two are  _not_ allowed to argue!" she said firmly. Simon saw Kieren visibly relax as Amy continued speaking, beaming at them. "You're going to feel _so_ silly about this when the three of us are best friends!"

Simon watched her with his arms crossed, carefully observing the pain in Kieren's eyes as he listened to Amy's cheerful rambling.

"You're going to say, 'Oh, we should have listened to Amy! Amy, the beautiful genius!'" she finished, smiling sweetly at them both for a moment before advancing towards the fridge with a full bottle of homemade neurotriptyline in hand.

"You filled that half an hour ago," Simon pointed out, smiling affectionately at the woman's characteristic absentmindedness. He could've sworn she got daffier every day.

She looked quizzically at him, glancing at the jar in her hand. "Did I?" she asked, her face concerned.

"Yeah," he said, too distracted to by the sad look on Kieren's face to think about the flash of worry on hers.

"I'll just have to put it back out again," she said, gesturing to the door and masking her lapse with a sunny smile. "What am I like?"

She chuckled and turned to leave, the two men smiling after her as she disappeared from view. Kieren took a few steps towards the door she'd just passed through, leaning against the frame with his head poking out as her footsteps disappeared, his face heavy with guilt.

Guilt looked all wrong on his face. Too rough, too old. Simon felt the surge of protectiveness again, white hot determination demanding he _do_ something about it.

"Where were we?" he said quietly, advancing on Kieren and taking hold of his arm, spinning him round to press his back against the wall. He was about to swoop in for the kiss when Kieren's voice brought him to a halt.

"Hang on," he said, giving Simon a look like he'd gone completely insane. "She's right out there!" he said urgently, nodding in the direction Amy had wondered off in.

Simon blinked, shaking his head as he tried to come to a decision, logic warring with the urge to lean down the last few inches and kiss every last fear and doubt away from Kieren's flustered face. "I…" he stammered, searching through the haze for the right words. "I… Well, then she'll know."

He started to lean in again when Kieren shook his head, not meeting Simon's eyes. "Look, if this is something we're doing," he whispered, glancing up meaningfully at Simon's longing face. "I don't want her to find out like that… I want to tell her."

Simon nodded, biting back his disappointment in an effort to be supportive. That's what you did, wasn't it? Support the people you cared about. He could admit now that he was _woefully_ inexperienced when it came to cultivating any sort of healthy relationship with another person- he'd spent his whole life up to his death avoiding them, after all. "Yeah. Yeah, fine," he said leaning back but keeping Kieren up against the wall. "Just tell her soon, will you?"

Kieren gulped and nodded, once again turning his eyes to the floor. It took all of Simon's willpower not to pounce on him right then and there. "I have to go," Kieren murmured, fidgeting against the wall and Simon's close proximity. "Got to be back by three. 'Family time'."

Simon clenched his jaw and nodded, swallowing back his resentment. He took his hand from the wall beside Kieren's shoulder and made to move away when his voice spoke up quietly. "You want to come?"

Simon looked back at his face, eyes widening. "Me?"

Kieren nodded shyly, his hand moving to the back of his neck and rubbing at his hairline nervously. "Yeah. It's not much, just, you know, lunch. So we'd just be sitting there watching the rest of them eat, but… well, you can come if you want."

Simon gaped at him for a moment. The enormity of the younger man inviting him to a private occasion with his very human family wasn't lost on him. He stared down at Kieren's face, noticing that he had his eyes turned down to the floor again. Obviously he was waiting for Simon to refuse the offer on the grounds that accepting the invitation would involve him spending an afternoon making polite dinner conversation with humans he didn't even know. It was a reasonable assumption on his part.

"Is that what normal people do?" he asked quietly, taking Kieren by surprise. "Go to lunch with the in-laws?"

If Kieren still had a blood flow, he would have blushed. "We're not  _married!_ "

Simon chuckled, tucking a finger beneath Kieren's chin and lifting it so they were once again eye to eye. "Well, is it?"

Kieren shrugged noncommittally. "It could be."

"Well, then," Simon said, pushing away from the wall and smiling at the stunned boy. "I'll do it."

Kieren blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah," Simon said, shrugging nonchalantly to mask his panic.  _Shit shit shit I'm meeting his parents shit._ "Like I said," he added with a small smile. "I'll do whatever it takes."

 

* * *

 

Kieren was pacing the hallway, considering possible reasons for Simon's sudden change in attitude when he heard loud clattering behind the closed door of the disciple-turned-sort-of-boyfriend's bedroom. "You okay?" he called, frowning as he wondered what he could possibly be doing behind there. He'd only gone to change his clothes and that had been ten minutes ago. Kieren desperately hoped he wasn't packing weapons or crucifixes or whatever other possibly dangerous paraphernalia he'd like to have with him in a house full of humans. He was considering the amount of dangerous equipment Simon could hide under one of his enormous jumpers when his voice called out from behind the door, frustration evident.

"Just give me a second," he called, quickly followed by another clatter and a few muttered curses.

Kieren leaned back against the door frame, weighing up the pros and cons of dragging a grumpy undead boyfriend to a family dinner. "We don't have to do this," he called, somewhat resentful of the fact that this seemed to be nothing but a chore for his supposed boyfriend. "We can forget all about it."

"No," Simon said firmly from behind the door, amidst more profanity. "You said you wanted me to see your world, so…"

"I'm not holding you to anything," Kieren said bitterly. Would a little pretend enthusiasm be too much to ask?

"I said I'd do it, I'll do it," Simon snapped irritably, making Kieren wince. Obviously Simon realised how tetchy he was starting to sound so he softened his tone. "It's part of the… getting to know you," his unexpectedly gentle words were punctuated by a grumbled "Jesus Christ", and he was right back to being cranky Simon again. "Is anyone around?" he called out.

Confused, Kieren did a circuit of the hallway and poked his head out the front door. Satisfied that Amy and the rest of Simon's groupies were nowhere to be seen, he called out a negative and held the door open, ready to leave.

"There'd better not be." He turned round and his eyes widened as Simon emerged. Kieren smiled, a mixture of surprise, pride and smugness on his face as Simon slouched towards the front door. Simon glanced at him with dark-lensed eyes and scowled as he brushed past. "Yeah, yeah. Start walking," he said grumpily, leaving a beaming Kieren to close the door behind them.

They walked briskly, side by side, Kieren glancing at Simon's moussed-up face and smiling despite how awful it looked on him. It was too dark for him, highlighting all the creases in his skin and making him look several years older. It didn't help that he'd clearly never applied cover-up in his life and it was all patchy and too thick in places, but Kieren couldn't stop grinning at the gesture. He must mean something to the man if he was willing to go against his core beliefs and hide the undead nature he carried like a badge of honour, even if only for an afternoon.

Simon caught him looking and stopped his furtive glancing around to offer him a sardonic smile. "How do I look?" he asked dryly.

" _So_ bad," Kieren answered honestly, but the smile never left his face.

"Yeah," Simon agreed, stopping short as Kieren overtook him and turned to face him, halting them in the middle of the street.

"Thank you," Kieren said earnestly, looking back into too-dark eyes and trying to express with just his face how much the gesture really meant to him.

Simon shrugged and smiled. "It's okay," he said, meeting his gaze steadily.

For a moment, Kieren felt hopeful. The way Simon looked at him reassured him that maybe they really had _something_ , something worth the hell he would no doubt get when Amy and Jem and pretty much everyone found out- somehow he didn't imagine the news of their relationship going down too well with many people. But for a second, the way Simon looked back at him with something close to adoration made him feel like everything would be okay, one way or another. Glowing with pride and gratitude for the man before him, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss his lips. He closed his eyes, losing himself for a moment before they marched head first into cold, harsh reality. At least this time they wouldn't be marching alone.

For a few more seconds he just kept his eyes closed and drank Simon in, the comforting way his lips moved against his own and the strangely soothing coolness of his hand against his cheek, before breaking away and turning to walk the well-trodden path to his house, listening with satisfaction as he heard Simon's footsteps close behind.

He was too caught up in the glow to notice Amy's confused and wounded face at the end of the street where he and Simon had kissed for that second time in the rain. Heartbroken, she watched as the two men she loved most in the world turned their backs on her and strolled away, leaving her behind without a backwards glance.

 

* * *

 

_"I offered you my hands and I've given you my hope_

_So let me be your salvation, I refuse to be your rope"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AMY, NOOOOOOOOO! PAY ATTENTION TO HER, YOU FUCKS, SHE MIGHT BE GOING RABID! D:
> 
> So far that's the thing that's upsetting me most about this season's story line- everyone's so wrapped up in their own lives and problems that no one's even spared a thought for my Amy! At least she has Philip now, I guess (I still think he's kind of creepy but I'm willing to give him a chance on the grounds that he finally stood up to Maxine and everyone last episode. His character's beginning to develop, so as long as he doesn't hurt Amy I've decided to give him the benefit of the doubt!) But yeah, I understand that Kieren's got a lot of shit in his own life right now but he hasn't even noticed that Amy's sick and that pisses me off :(
> 
> So yeah, next time we have dinner with the in-laws! Hope to see you there :D Feel free to send me reviews and/or PMs if you wanna chat, I'll do my best to reply to you!
> 
> Later, Fleshers!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back! Bet y'all thought I was dead xD
> 
> Chapter 3's here, wooooooo! This time in Broken Masks- awkward family dinners and SHOCKING confessions! Hope you enjoy :D
> 
> A note on zombie biology: those of you who've read my other Siren fic 'Sense Memory' know that in there I wrote it with the assumption that they have very limited feeling (kind of numb, like when fall asleep on your arm?). I wrote that after episode 5 in which Amy told Philip she couldn't feel a thing. As I began writing this we'd just had episode 3 in which there was plenty to suggest that they actually did have some sense of feeling (hot zombie make-outs ringing any bells?), not to mention in episode 4 Kieren talked about feeling rain on his fingers and stuff, so basically forget my undead biology from that other fic 'cause it doesn't apply here! (although I'm afraid you're not gonna get any detailed zombie sex no matter how much they can supposedly feel in this fic- sorry, guys, but a smut write I ain't :/ I can give you mild emotional steaminess at best! So yeah, that's gonna happen soon ;) )
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _Is there something I'm not seeing?_

_Something you're not telling me_

' _Cause I've been hearing different stories_

_And I don't know what to believe_

_Is there a reason I'm not healing_

_Or am I learning from this pain?_

_I have a little trouble kneeling_

_I don't know what to believe"_

-'Ready To Question', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure you want me there?" Simon asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Kieren lowered his hand, his fingers still stained with the cover-up he'd been blending across the older man's face in an attempt to make it look less like it had been slathered on with a trowel. He looked slightly better, but Kieren couldn't get used to the lack of snowy white skin, and the brown contacts he'd secretly borrowed from Amy's case didn't suit him at all. Kieren wondered what colour his eyes had been before he'd died- green, maybe? Or blue.

"Kieren?" Simon said quietly, watching his face carefully.

Kieren shrugged off thoughts of Simon's eyes and tried to muster an honest answer to the question. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure what the answer _was_. He did want Simon there, of course he did- with all the shit he'd been getting from pretty much every other Roarton resident in the past week it was starting to feel like Simon was the only person (living or dead) that he could talk to, however weird and messed up that seemed. Having him around would certainly alleviate the tedium of another family dinner- maybe if he had someone else there his parents wouldn't insist that he pretend to eat? He still hadn't found the words or the guts to tell them just how  _unhelpful_ that whole charade was to him.

On the other hand… well, what would his parents think of him? What would Simon think of them? Would they just assume that he and Simon were nothing more than workmates or would his mum see right through that and spend the afternoon quietly sizing up his new boyfriend (which was still weird to say, or even think for that matter)? How would Simon react when he saw the way the Walkers treated Kieren's condition- like it didn't exist? Would he accept it and move on or would it set him off? There were too many variables, Kieren felt his throat clench up just considering it. Simon was still waiting for an answer. He did the first thing he could think of.

"If you don't want to come, it's not too late to back out," he said, neatly turning the conversation on its head and hating himself for it, burying his smudged hands in his pockets.

Simon frowned at him. That wasn't what he'd meant, and Kieren knew it. But he couldn't for the (un)life of him provide an honest answer to the original question so he'd turned it round. He could tell that Simon was annoyed at him for interpreting his honest concern as cowardice by the way he turned his face from him with a scowl.

"Can you stop saying that, please? I'm fine, I'm completely relaxed," he said with his jaw clenched a little tighter than a 'perfectly relaxed' person's technically should be. He caught sight of something up ahead and his eyes widened. "Is that your dad? Shit."

Despite his misgivings, Kieren couldn't help smiling at Simon's panicked expression. This must have been the first time he'd seen the man looking truly nervous. He decided to help him out. "Say you like his jeans."

Simon looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "What?"

He didn't have time to enquire further as Steve caught sight of them, straightening up from where he'd been tending the front lawn and watching them draw closer, looking in confusion at Simon. He had probably been expecting Amy. Kieren quickly stepped in with introductions before it could get more awkward.

"Simon, this is my dad, Steve," he said, smiling at his dad reassuringly.

"Hi, Steve," Simon greeted gruffly, extending his hand. Steve shook it, smiling but still bemused. When they separated Simon smiled uneasily and gestured downwards with his arms. "Like your jeans."

Steve glanced down and smiled, pleasantly surprised by the compliment. "Thanks very much," he said, chuffed. He ushered them into the house with a smile, and Simon glanced at Kieren with a grin followed shortly by a frown- a look that was equal parts 'look, I did what you said and it worked!' and 'I can't believe you had me say that'. Kieren shrugged at him and led the way in.

"Sue!" Steve called as they entered, Kieren's mum turning to look from her position by the dining table. "Kieren's brought a mate back. Simon."

"Very nice!" Sue said brightly, although she seemed confused. She must have been expecting Amy, too. She shot Kieren a questioning look, and in a moment of panic he desperately tried to recall if he'd fixed his own cover-up after he'd kissed Simon outside the bungalow. Surely Simon would tell him if it was smudged around his lips… wouldn't he?

"Hello Sue!" Simon said politely, even mustering a smile. "Thanks for having me."

"Lovely to have you," Sue replied graciously. She and Steve stood side by side, surveying the odd couple before them.

_Oh, fuck, do we look like a couple? Jesus, stop panicking._

After an awkward five seconds that could have easily been five years, Steve cleared his throat and smiled at the uneasy Irish man. "Well, I hope you like lunch, Simon!"

Simon looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. "Uh, sure…" he said diplomatically, obviously unsure of whether he should point out his condition or just go along with the charade. Maybe he'd even mime eating for Kieren's sake? Something about the thought rubbed Kieren the wrong way- Simon had already left enough of his principles by the roadside when he'd put on his cover-up and contacts, and he'd done it for Kieren. Regardless of whether Kieren had agreed with those principles in the first place, he'd respected them. He wouldn't make Simon give up any more of himself for the sake of a family dinner. Besides, he didn't particularly want to mime in front of Simon, either- Christ, he'd never live it down.

"It's definitely in his top three meals we don't eat," Kieren said sarcastically.

Okay, so perhaps he could have phrased it better. His parents shifted about awkwardly. Simon gaped at him for a few seconds before turning to give the elder Walkers a slightly embarrassed smile. To Kieren's immense relief, they smiled back.

"Well… no time like the present, eh?" Steve said, nodding to Sue as the two of them disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the food.

Simon smiled at them until they were out of sight, then turned to Kieren with a frown. "Smooth."

"It would have been awkward whatever I'd said," Kieren said dismissively, biting his lip and smiling. "You lot just bonded."

"What?" Simon asked, confused.

"I saw that little smile- the three of you, bonding over embarrassment," he said with a grin. "Maybe I should just make more tactless jokes, give you lot some common ground."

Simon chuckled lightly, checking the door Kieren's parents had exited through before lifting his hand to Kieren's neck. "Every little helps, eh?"

Kieren smiled, leaning in and pressing a lightning fast kiss to Simon's lips, before pulling away and moving to his place at the table. For a moment, he actually felt like the day could get better.

The moment didn't last long.

 

* * *

 

"This is nice," Simon said, and actually sort of meaning it. "Thank you."

The Walkers nodded in agreement. He felt Kieren's hand settle lightly on his knee and had to bite back a giddy smile. There was still plenty of awkwardness to go around, of course, but it was nice. Kieren's parents seemed okay (despite being neck-deep in denial of their son's condition), and they'd welcomed him into their home with relative ease. His eyes flickered to Steve. Certainly not the most intimidating father he'd ever seen. Especially not now, chatting about beef with a smile on his face while his undead son and dinner guest nodded along dutifully.

" _How's the fish?" a tentative voice asks, haggard face observing him._

" _It's good," a false smile as he picks half-heartedly at the food he can't eat. "Thanks, Dad."_

" _This haddock's a bit tough…" he says. He won't look at him now._

Simon shrugged the memory away. It wasn't helpful. He focused on the feeling of Kieren's hand on his leg and dragged himself back to reality with a smile as Steve continued his ramble.

"…Which, if previous experience is anything to go by, means any time between now and midnight!" he said jokily in explanation of his daughter's absence. He looked between the people at the table- the woman waiting to eat and the two men who weren't- and smiled awkwardly. "No point letting it get cold," he said, moving to dish out the food.

Simon nodded understandingly, keeping the smile plastered to his face. This wasn't awkward. Sitting next to his sort-of secret boyfriend, watching said boyfriend's parents eat while sitting rigidly to the side with nothing in front of him and nothing to do with his hands. Of course, what he'd really like to be doing with his hands right now involved the gorgeous man beside him and would probably be inappropriate in present company. Better save it. Yep, definitely not awkward.

…Of course it was awkward. He rolled his shoulders slightly, leaning his hands on the table and clearing his throat, smiling pleasantly at Kieren's dad. "So, Steve, how did you and Sue meet?" he asked politely. That was the kind of question you asked people, right? To get the conversation rolling.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the right question to ask with the Walkers. Steve's face fell, and there was a moment of tense silence before he answered. "Work," he said briskly, returning to his meal without offering further explanation.

Feeling confused (not to mention terrified that he may have inadvertently stepped on some kind of land mine), Simon turned to Sue for an explanation.

"Work," she answered just as quickly, although she at least threw in a smile to put him at ease. He appreciated the effort, although he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just unknowingly made some kind of monumental  _faux pas_  where the Walker family was concerned. He had just resolved to never, ever open his mouth again when Sue continued. "What about the two of you?"

Simon was too busy wondering what Sue meant by comparing him and Kieren to her and Steve in a question to offer an answer. Fortunately, Kieren was ready with a grateful smile and a reply. "Oh, same. Work."

Sue and Steve nodded, and the table fell silent once more. Simon realised he should probably just let it stay that way. That would probably be best. Just sit quietly. No more words.

"I liked the way he gave back," he said.

_Why?_

Steve stopped chewing, glancing between Simon and Kieren wordlessly. Sue smiled uncomfortably before diving back into her meal with renewed vigour. Simon could have sworn he saw the barest flicker of a smile on Kieren's face at the unintentional innuendo, but it was quite quickly replaced by mortification as he lifted his hand from Simon's leg surreptitiously.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

He was about to make an attempt to scavenge the situation, but fortunately the doorbell rang and Steve practically leaped to answer it.

_Saved by the bell. Literally._

As he watched Kieren's disappointed face and once again vowed to never speak in front of his family again for the rest of his extended undead life, the silence was broken by the tread of multiple pairs of feet by the door, followed by the sound of playful scuffling. He turned his head and cursed inwardly as he realised who Kieren's little sister had brought home with her.

Gary laughed with Jem as he shucked off her coat and flung it on the sofa. Their laughter died in their throats as they noticed who was sitting beside Kieren.

As Steve awkwardly introduced them, Simon considered getting up and leaving. He weighed up the pros and cons of just punching the bastard out right then and there. He calculated things he could say or do to get the ignorant sod to leave of his own accord.

Then he caught sight of Kieren's face. Sad, resigned. He was probably expecting something to kick off. Maybe he thought Simon would get up and leave him alone with his family and the unwelcome interloper. It was a reasonable assumption. It had been hard enough to sign him off on dinner with his family in the first place- an ill-mannered ex-HVF thug was never mentioned in the bargain.

With an inward sigh, Simon stood up and extended his hand. "Alright," he greeted the man neutrally. After a tense moment of consideration, Gary reached out and shook it.

Simon wished he had a camera so he could capture the look of surprise on Kieren's face.

They all sat down, Simon reclaiming his spot beside Kieren and regarding the brute across the table from him coolly, carefully pretending not to see the bastard wiping his hand on his jeans. Any other day he'd take pleasure in taking the man down a peg. Not today, not with Kieren next to him, silently pleading that everyone get along for a bit. This was no time to make a scene.

"There we are. More the merrier!" Steve said cheerily, in an attempt to cut through the heavy atmosphere of hostility at the table.

"Plenty to go round," Sue said, smiling as she set an extra place for Gary.

"Yeah, well- there would be, wouldn't there?" Jem chortled, and she and Gary burst into giggles.

 _Drunk as a skunk, the pair of them,_ Simon realised with annoyance. He'd never even met Kieren's sister before but already he could tell that Kendal was a bad influence on her. If she had any sense she'd drop him sooner rather than later.

Sue began shovelling food onto their plates, and still they giggled at their own not-so-private joke. Simon narrowed his eyes, regarding them steadily.

"Shall we keep it cool, guys," he said in a low voice, glancing at Sue. "While we're here?"

"No problem this end, pal," Gary said nonchalantly. Jem seized the opportunity to pinch several roast potatoes from his plate while he was distracted. "Oi! Cheeky sod," he laughed, Jem replying with a flirtatious smirk. Simon glanced at Sue, who seemed to be trying hard not to look appalled, and immediately felt his anger at the loudmouth couple intensify.

"Did you manage to get all of the knots out of the bunting, then, Mum?" Kieren asked conversationally, and Simon was just as grateful for the change of topic as she was.

"Finally," she said with a little smile. Jem was giving her a defiant look across the table as Gary stuffed his face, and Simon bristled. At least he and Kieren had had the decency not to strut their relationship- if that's what it was- in front of his parents and dare them to say anything about it (one accidental innuendo aside). Where possible he liked to exercise a little thing called _tact_.

"They keeping you busy, Sue?" Gary asked, his mouth still full of potatoes. Charming.

Steve helpfully fielded the question while Sue was staring at Gary's gaping mouth with something verging on disgust. "Sue's on the planning committee for the village fete. It's all go, isn't it?"

"There's plenty to do," she conceded, turning her gaze back to her own plate.

"Not helped by a certain Maxine Martin," Steve said pointedly, and Simon saw Sue briefly close her eyes and sigh. He was almost tempted to join her- given the present company, it probably wasn't the wisest thing to say.

Gary immediately confirmed both their fears. "What's Maxine done?" he asked, almost defensively. Like a trained dog.

"She thinks the fete should have a stand commemorating the Rising," Sue explained quietly, focusing her attention on sawing her beef into bite size pieces.

"As if they haven't got enough to worry about," Steve said exasperatedly.

"Well, what's the problem there, Sue?" Gary asked, and Simon stiffened at the challenging tone. Almost as if he'd sensed his anger, Kieren's hand found its way to his knee again and squeezed reassuringly (or possibly warningly). He silently thanked him for the anchor.

"Most years we try to avoid anything divisive," Sue said gently, her eyes flickering to Simon and Kieren briefly. Simon met her gaze, nodding almost imperceptibly in an attempt to reassure her. He couldn't help feeling oddly protective of the woman. Then again, he'd always been more of a mother's boy.

_Another unhelpful thought. Forget it._

He turned his attention back to Gary's ignorant rambling (more like mumbling- bloody hell, he needed to enunciate), locking the thought away for later. He'd have plenty of time to dwell on it then.

"…Acts of valour an' that, Jem's here included," Gary said, smiling flirtatiously at the awkwardly smiling girl. "They should 'ave umpteen stands, all Jem's heroic deeds."

"Well, it's mainly _jams_ ," Sue said, a definite edge to her voice. She was quickly tiring of this conversation, and Simon couldn't say he blamed her.

Gary continued, talking mainly to Jem like Sue hadn't even spoken. "Have one for that time we were in the Kitson's place, remember that?"

Jem laughed through her mouthful of food, and Simon realised with dismay that that was all the encouragement Gary needed to continue talking. As the story went on, Steve desperately trying to turn the topic back to the food after every mention of undead brains exploding, Simon felt rage boiling up inside him. Only one thing kept him from vaulting the table and clocking the lout on the chin, and that something was squeezing his knee with an ever tightening grip as Gary continued spinning his gruesome yarn. Simon glanced at Kieren out of the corner of his eye, and his heart broke a little when he saw the look of bitterness on his gentle face. Simon tentatively shifted his own arm, resting his hand lightly over Kieren's on his knee and squeezing his knuckles reassuringly. His heart broke even more when Kieren wouldn't even look at him.

 

* * *

 

Kieren felt Simon's hand squeezing his, but he couldn't even bring himself to react. His gaze was fixed on Gary, his frown deepening at every junction of the violent story when not a single member of his family made to call him out on his ignorance. Kieren looked at Jem and saw her annoyance with her date on her face, but she continued to fiddle with the food on her plate while he carried on his grisly retelling uninterrupted. His dad made a few feeble attempts to change the subject to the supply of creamed leeks, but his efforts weren't enough to halt Gary's monologue. Sue sat quietly, the anger on her face remaining a silent rage. Not one of them spoke up, not even to hint that maybe he shouldn't be telling this story at a table with two undead diners. Kieren swallowed- if his digestive system still worked he knew bile would be rising in his throat. He glanced at Simon and realised that he had his head down and his teeth gritted. He didn't want to make a scene, not in front of Kieren's parents. Kieren couldn't decide if he was grateful or annoyed that this was the one day Simon decided to adopt a less confrontational attitude.

Well. It was up to him, then, wasn't it?

"That what you did in the war, is it?" Kieren asked as Gary finished his story, his voice catching slightly as he fought past the rage. "Kill people?"

"Leave it," Simon said quietly, pressing down on his hand. Attempting to ground himself as much as he was trying to ground Kieren, he imagined. Well, not today.

"No. No, I won't," Kieren snapped, pulling his hand away from Simon's sharply and turning his gaze back to Gary, feeling the anger rise up inside him. "I killed people, too."

Just like that he felt the spell break. The magical mist his family had been seeing him through, the haze of ignorance and denial that let them believe he'd harmlessly wondered the countryside until being scooped up by the authorities and medicated, was gone. It was all out in the open now. The damage was done. Might as well get it all off his chest now. "Funny story of my own, actually. I rose from the dead, and then after that I ripped people apart," he said bluntly, honestly, feeling his voice crack at the end of the sentence as guilt and relief flooded him.

"Kieren," Sue said quietly, but there was no stopping him now. He'd waited too long for this to back down now. He noticed Simon shifting around uncomfortably beside him, and realised he couldn't care less.

"Okay, maybe it's not that funny," Kieren conceded, shifting his position. "But you can sit there and listen to it anyway, like we did with you," he said firmly, eyes turning to Gary.

Gary glanced at Jem. Noticing her discomfort (finally), he waved his fork at Kieren dismissively and turned his attention back to his plate. "Nah, you're all right, mate."

" _Listen to the story_ ," Kieren said fiercely, making all present jump to attention. Simon's mouth was hanging open slightly, eyes locked on Kieren's face. Kieren was too wound up to find it unsettling. He took a deep breath and smiled, and began telling the story of that first terrifying night of his new life like it was nothing more than an amusing anecdote.

"It's weird at first because all there is, is just darkness. It's so  _dark,_ doesn't make a difference if your eyes are open or closed. What you  _think_  is that you've been buried alive."

"Kieren, please-" Steve beseeched, but Kieren ignored him. It was his turn to speak now.

"Not ideal," Kieren continued, laughing quietly at the immense understatement. "That's proper… _proper_ panic, that, you know? You hit out at the lid of the coffin, even though you know there's  _no way_. But then… it starts to give," his eyes glazed over slightly, his mind back in that coffin, his fingers once again clawing at the satin-covered wood with more desperation than he'd ever felt in his life. "You have to push your way through  _all_ the soil. Takes ages, doesn't it?" he vaguely directed the question at Simon, but continued before the dumbstruck man could answer. "It takes so long…"

Sue tried to interject again, but he was on a roll. They weren't taking this away from him.

"But all of a sudden… something's different," he said, lost again in the memory, reliving every second. "You feel the wind on the tips of your fingers, and the rain," he laughed humourlessly. "Because before that you're not really sure where you are, but now you  _know_. And you're pushing through. And then all this  _stuff_ at once. The moon," he could have been there again, he could see the silver light shining in his mind's eye. "And this incredible storm blowing, and the clock chiming midnight, and you're just _standing_ there, nobody else around, and all of it pushing into me…"

"No one else, are you sure?" Simon asked, fixing Kieren with his searching gaze.

"No, but d'you know what I felt-"

"Were any of the other graves open?" Simon insisted. Kieren might have spared a thought for the look of stunned realisation dawning on his face if he hadn't been so frustrated at being interrupted.

"No, the other graves are fine, I'm trying to say something," he said sharply, glancing at Simon in exasperation before returning to his story. "That feeling… it's like what being _born_ must be like, except you've got  _context_. Because honestly, dead…" he shook his head, trying to wrap his head around the impossible, enormous feelings. "Everything up until then… was fear."

Sue and Steve freeze, his words hitting them hard. "Everything," he realised it was the first time he'd ever told them both exactly how it had felt, living in Roarton when everyone hated him, being alive when Rick wasn't. Despite the cold feeling the word left in his stomach, he felt a heavy weight lift from his chest, the fist he'd kept clamped over his heart opening, spilling his secrets to the world and he couldn't bring himself to care. "Even when I was alive, just different levels of fear," he said, his head clearing for the first time since he'd risen. There were no secrets anymore- he would shout it from the rooftops, he would tattoo it on his cold, dead skin. His old life had been fear, and his new life was freedom. He found himself smiling, almost giddy with the memory of the thrill he'd felt crawling from his final resting place. As a boy he'd been scared of the creatures that went bump in the night- now he was one of them, and for the first time he was free.

"And then it's  _gone,_ " he said with a breathless laugh, shaking his head in awe, fire pumping through his veins as he basked in memories of the power he'd felt, the driving hunger that kept him alive and gave him more purpose than his first life had ever had. "And you're like: 'yeah, come on, give it to me,  _fill me up!'_ "

He turned his eyes back to Gary, leaning across the table and smiling, almost spitting the last words with undisguised glee. "And you know what, Gary, this hunger, this appetite. I could not  _wait_ to get started."

The table shook as Steve slammed his hand down onto it, jolting Kieren out of his exhilarated trance. "That's enough!" he bellowed, fixing Kieren with a reprimanding look. "Do you hear me? I will  _not_ have it."

Within seconds Kieren's elation was gone, replaced by bitterness he could no longer be bothered to disguise. "What, did I cross the line, Dad?" he asked incredulously.

"Kieren, please!" Sue pleaded, but Kieren wouldn't be silenced. Not like this, not again. He laughed humourlessly, gesturing to the silenced couple across the table from him.

"No, while they sit around and high-five each other about killing us like it's a big  _joke?_  Oh, no, that's fine with everyone, I say  _one thing_ and that is indecent? I'm sorry, but that is  _bullshit!_ "

He leapt to his feet, the chair scraping across the floor behind him. He grabbed his jacket roughly, heading straight for the door. He couldn't stay another second in the same room as these people, not right now. "Come on, Simon."

Simon didn't seem to hear him. He was staring at the spot where Kieren had been sitting, his face thunder-struck. Kieren glared at him.

"Come  _on!_ " he said again, louder this time, beginning to sweep away towards the door regardless of whether Simon chose to follow him or not.

He heard Simon mumble an affirmative and get to his feet, but he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay him much mind.

They still didn't understand. He got it now. Even in his own house, with his own family, he still wasn't separate from the lies and the double-standards. Even at a table with their undead son and brother, they would defend a man's right to share his 'heroic' tales of shooting zombies in the head before his right to discuss the night of his rising. The day his new life began would forever be a taboo subject, mentioned only in hushed whispers to others like himself. His family would always be happier if he pretended to be like them. To be normal.

He swallowed hard. Perhaps that's all his life was ever meant to be. One great big charade. That's what it had been when he was alive- telling his classmates his crush had been that girl he sat next to in biology, not mentioning the much stronger feelings he'd held for his popular best friend. Keeping those feelings hidden from the world even during his teenage years after they had been returned. Just pretending to fit into the niche that was assigned to him, and failing miserably the first time round. Seemed he didn't grow much better with experience.

His contacts were itching again. If he still had working tear ducts he'd think he was crying. He quickened his pace, the mousse on his face seeming to grow heavier and more suffocating with every step. Every day of his second life was a last-ditch attempt to fit into his pre-approved mould, and realising that he couldn't. He didn't want to. And what was more, no one else did either. It was all a scam, he could see it now. They gave them make-up and lenses to make them look more normal, then singled them out with bright orange bibs and pre-written lines to reel off to any human they so much as brushed past on the street. It wasn't a disguise at all, it was decoration. A way to make their waxen skin more palatable to the living. To them he was just a corpse, for them to dress up like a doll and to work for them like a slave.

They would never accept him.

How could they?

"Kieren?"

He stopped, and he heard Simon's feet stop behind him. He took a deep breath, looking up to the sky as the disciple moved to join him at his side.

Simon's pale face regarded him, his eyes still wide and disbelieving. But he softened his gaze for a moment when Kieren met his eyes. "Where do you want to go?"

Kieren considered the places he used to go. The cave where he'd seen Rick's living face for the last time and where his own first life had ended, the moor where he used to go to paint on cloudy days, the gravesite that was his first love's final resting place.

But they weren't places for him anymore. They were a relic of his past life, his _human_ life. Those places didn't want him anymore, not the way he was. It was time for a fresh start, in a place where his lifeless body wasn't shamed and shunned.

He stared at Simon's face for a moment, then turned and kept walking.

"The bungalow," he said firmly.

 

* * *

 

_It's you. It's always been you._

It still seemed so strange, so foreign. But at the same time, just so easy to believe.

He barely took his eyes off Kieren the whole way back, still trying to wrap his head around the undeniable truth that was being presented to him. They'd taken a longer route, circling needlessly around town a few times until the sun began to set, but Simon hadn't questioned it. Kieren had needed to clear his head, and so had he.

_Kieren Walker. The First. The One._

Kieren barged straight into the bungalow without so much as a sideways glance to see if they were being watched. Even Simon could barely bring himself to glance into the living room before following him, eyes widening as he saw the younger man cut straight through the hallway to Simon's room. After checking the other rooms briefly for any sign of Amy and being satisfied that she was out, he entered his room to find Kieren pacing alongside the bed, his hands behind his head and his teeth gritted. The sun had set below the horizon, and the early evening moonlight was shining through the window, illuminating Kieren's hair and the side of his face in a silver glow.

_Beautiful._

Simon reached up and flipped the light switch. He caught his breath as the Kieren's face was thrown into sharp focus by the artificial light. He'd never seen his face so conflicted. Angered and anguished, all in the same look.

He struggled to find something to say. Something comforting or reassuring, some kind of platitude to ease his pain. But he couldn't keep his head from spinning long enough to find it.

_The First. The One._

Kieren collapsed onto the bed, his head cradled in his hands and his shoulders shaking, his dehydrated body trying to cry. Simon felt his heart wrench painfully, but still all he could do was look.

Kieren was special. He had always been special. Turned out he was special in a way that Simon had never even considered.

He'd never been able to believe that Kieren could want him- every time they kissed he felt his thoughts scrambled by the sheer impossibility that the beautiful, pure, incredible man could be his, or even _close_ to his. Now he believed it even less.

Kieren's hands moved to his eyes. Simon thought he must be wiping at the corners- even after your body has stopped producing tears the need to brush them away is instinctual. Simon cursed himself, realising he should be the one wiping his phantom tears away like he had that night in the rain, but all he could do was stand around uselessly.

But Kieren didn't wipe his eyes. He reached in, his fingertips brushing lightly beneath his eyelids and coming away slowly, the contact lenses on his fingers falling to the floor. He raised his head, his eyes closed as he turned his face to the light.

His eyes flickered open. Simon's cold, dead heart skipped a beat.

His natural eyes- vast, milky white expanses, the darkest speck in the centre still seeming to glow with life- surveyed himself in the mirror. He blinked slowly, unaccustomed to the freedom. He looked at his reflection for a long time, carefully neutral, neither a smile nor a frown crossing his face as he regarded his eyes in their natural state.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached into his pocket. His hand emerged with a cloth clutched in his fingers. He raised it to his face, and Simon felt his eyes widening as he made a long, deliberate stroke down his left cheek, the mousse coming away on the fabric and leaving a track of exposed white skin in its wake.

_Beautiful…_

Finally, Kieren realised Simon was staring. He looked up at him for a moment as he wiped his face. He glanced once more into the mirror.

He stood up, and Simon was pinned by his gaze. Kieren advanced on him, cloth in hand, until he came to rest with his feet mere inches from Simon's, their eyes meeting across the short distance.

Kieren raised his hand, his eyes never leaving Simon's as he brought the cloth to his cheek. Slowly, purposefully, he began to wipe away the unfamiliar cover-up, exposing the ghostly skin beneath, his pale eyes searching Simon's earnestly.

Simon couldn't say a word. He was tongue-tied, his lens-darkened eyes looking on in awe as he felt the sludge cleaned from his face. The look in Kieren's eyes sent a thousand volts of electricity through his lifeless heart, and he tilted his head slightly to search his face for any sign that what he was witnessing was a trick or a joke, but he found none.

Kieren Walker, eyes bare and mask peeling, looking at Simon's face and wiping away the paint on the surface, willingly exposing his true nature for the world to see, his eyes boring into him with such intensity that Simon thought he might combust on the spot.

Because he wanted to look at his face. His _real_ face.

Simon lifted his hand slowly, as if in a trance. He leveled it with his cheek, resting it gently over Kieren's hand and assisting him in clearing his face of the oppressive substance, their hands working together until his skin was clear. As Kieren's hand pulled away Simon kept his grip on it, holding Kieren's gaze as he raised his free hand to his exposed face, removing his contacts one by one and flicking them to the floor along with Kieren's. When he felt like himself again he lifted Kieren's hand to his own partially covered face, guiding the cloth in clearing away what remained of the mask. Kieren made no move to stop him, his eyes never leaving his for a second.

When they were done, Simon took the cloth from Kieren's unresisting hand, dropping it on the floor with the discarded contacts. He gazed at every exposed inch of Kieren's face, a disbelieving smile lighting him up as he looked for the first time on Kieren's real self.

"Beautiful…" he whispered, his hand lifting to cradle his cheek. Kieren leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he breathed in deeply. Simon felt like his heart could burst, the love he felt for the man in front of him breathing new life into his lungs.

… _Love?_

Simon felt himself freeze up as the word offered itself up, feeling himself close off as his head caught up with his heart. A familiar fear coiled in his gut- that terrifying fear of loneliness and rejection that accompanied him wherever he went, that he kept at bay with his prayers every morning and evening, following him like a plague.

The fear that had returned the day he first set his eyes upon Kieren Walker.

He still remembered the fluttering in his stomach the first time he'd seen his face from across the graveyard. Amy had told him her BDFF was perfectly 'moregeous', but he hadn't quite believed it until that moment. Even coated in fifteen layers of cover-up his beauty had shone through. His dark eyes had searched Simon's face, looking him up and down with suspicion no other undead had ever shown him. Sizing him up.

That was the moment Simon realised he'd found someone special. For the rest of the day he'd found his thoughts returning to that appraising stare, full of a sharp cynicism he'd never before seen on such a young face. It was the face of a gentle soul who'd suffered too much. Seen too much.

With every well-warranted look of distrust the boy gave him, Simon felt the fear return. It didn't take him long to realise his prayers weren't enough to stave off the dread anymore. The only time he felt the burden lift was when he saw Kieren smile. Even during the incident at the GP's surgery, when he'd believed Kieren to be on the side of the humans, he had felt the pain like a stab to the heart as he'd returned the keys and felt Kieren's harsh gaze on his back.

Because there was what he believed. And then there was Kieren.

_The First. The One._

_No, not the First. Not right here, at this second._

_Just the One._

"Kieren," he rasped, his breath catching Kieren's eyes opened, delicate lashes fluttering. His milky eyes stared up at him, his cheek still leaning into Simon's hand tenderly. He saw the look on Simon's face and his pale eyes widened, almost in expectation of the words he was about to utter.

"Kieren," he said again, his free hand cradling the other side of Kieren's face, closing his eyes for a second as he pushed aside the fear that threatened to consume him. His grip tightened. His eyes opened.

"Kieren, I…"

 

* * *

 

" _But I'm ready to question_

_That life is a blessing_

_So give me a sign_

_Am I following blind?_

_Is there anyone listening?_

_Is there anyone listening?_

_I don't know..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yes, that really is how I'm gonna leave it.
> 
> Did I mention there were gonna be twelve chapters all in all? xD
> 
> Well, see ya next time! *runs away*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Is it a quick update? I THINK IT IS. (I didn't want to leave it too long after that ending I left you with last time, that was pretty mean, sorry :/)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter literally leaps right in after the last chapter ended (so maybe re-read at least the end of that one if you don't remember exactly how I so cruelly left it hanging), and this chapter is like 90% fluffy/steamy (and slightly angsty, not gonna lie) Siren since we're coming up to that unholy period of separation that was episode 5. So, enjoy the romance while you can!
> 
> BTW this chapter contains ALMOST smut (but not quite smut because honestly I am too goddamn asexual to make it work when I try writing porn, okay?), still, much getting naked and hot make-outs so hopefully not a complete disappointment :3 Not enough to make this an M, I don't think.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _There used to be an empty space_

_A photograph without a face_

_But with your presence, and your grace_

_Everything falls into place_

_Just please don't say you love me_

' _Cause I might not say it back_

_Doesn't mean my heart stops skipping when you look at me like that_

_There's no need to worry when you see just where we're at_

_Just please don't say you love me_

' _Cause I might not say it back."_

-'Please Don't Say You Love Me', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

Kieren's lips found his before he could finish the sentence. Hot, feverish, more so than a dead boy's should be. Simon's gasp echoed in the silence of the deserted bungalow, and words deserted him as arms wound around his waist. His eyes fluttered closed, his hands on Kieren's face sliding back to run through his fair hair gently, reverently. Kieren's grip tightened, pulling him closer.

"Kieren," he gasped when he broke away to catch his breath, his eyelids heavy and his pinprick pupils blown wide with more love and lust than he knew what to do with as he tried to pick up the dangling thread of his incomplete confession. "I-"

His lips were busy once more as Kieren claimed them again, his teeth biting down just enough to pull a low growl from Simon's throat. He gave up trying to speak, his arm pressing behind Kieren's shoulders urgently, holding him as close as he could through the fifty or so layers of clothing Kieren had deigned to wear that day. Simon had never been more frustrated at a person's clothing taste than he was at that moment.

Kieren pulled his head away slightly, pressing their foreheads together as he gasped for air out of sheer force of habit. He looked up at Simon through his eyelashes and the sight damn near gave him a heart attack. His red-blond hair hung in ruffled disarray at his forehead, the bottomless pupils of his pearly eyes vastly dilated, deeper and darker than space itself. His soft lips had been kissed swollen, warmed to an almost human shade of pink and twitching invitingly.

This time, it was Simon who took the leap.

 

* * *

 

Kieren deepened the kiss gratefully, sliding one of his hands up to Simon's neck to hold him down to his lips, feeling a moan escape his own mouth only to be immediately swallowed by Simon's yearning lips. The fiery rush of pleasure racing through his body was almost enough to take his mind off the guilt.

Almost.

_He was about to tell you he loves you._

The hand gripping Simon's waist bunched the fabric of his shirt in a white-knuckled grip, and he blinked against the dry itch at the corners of his eyes. For once he was glad to be all out of tears to shed.

_He loves you._

Of course he did. Why he hadn't seen it earlier, he had no idea.

He wanted to just be happy. He wanted to pull back and ask Simon to finish the sentence, and then he wanted to say it right back.

But he didn't want to lie. Not to Simon.

_You don't love him…_

He felt the truth like a sucker punch to the gut. He clung tighter to the tall, solid body in front of him, anchoring himself in pleasure and comfort as the knowledge wracked him with guilt.

_Of course you don't love him…_

He broke away from Simon's intoxicating lips and pressed his mouth against the dip of his collarbone, hiding his face as Simon's lips trailed a path down his neck. Each kiss smouldered against his cold skin, even though he knew in his heart that Simon's body was just as cold and lifeless as his own. Despite that his mind conjured the phantom memory of burning kisses, trailing down his throat and making him shiver with anticipation. Perfect, adoring strokes, each placed with slow deliberation on his skin by the confident, caring man he clung to like a lifeline. His shoulders shook, guilt warring with desire as he squeezed his eyes shut against the disciple's shoulder.

 _But, Christ, don't you just_ wish  _you did…_

_If only things could be simple. Just this once._

"Kieren?"

Simon's voice was rough with desire, his eyes burned as Kieren met his gaze. He felt his stomach flop, his cold, stiff muscles tingling as he felt the longing on Simon's face. Longing for  _him._ Simon's eyes roamed over every inch of his pale face, lingering over every detail like he was admiring a masterpiece. Kieren's lifeless heart stuttered.

He found his lips once more, kissing him roughly, impatiently. He shrugged his top jacket from his shoulders, letting it slip carelessly to the floor as his arms found their way back to Simon's waist. Simon groaned into his mouth, his hands picking up where Kieren's left off in shedding him of the excess layers, fumbling in his eagerness. With every layer that slid to the floor Kieren felt the distance between them shrink. Simon pushed against him, and Kieren found himself being walked backwards across the room, Simon pushing the door shut roughly behind them. Before he knew it Kieren felt the bed against the back of his knees, and didn't resist as Simon pushed him back onto it, following him down without ever once breaking the kiss.

He felt Simon's weight on top of him, supported only by his track-marked arms on either side of his head, and almost choked on the rush of lust that overwhelmed him, like wildfire through his veins. His eager hands flew to the collar of Simon's shirt, fiddling clumsily with the top button and working his way down as Simon attacked his lips, leaving him light-headed.

The final button undone, he started to push the intrusive layer of fabric down off Simon's body, hands gliding across his shoulder blades.

A surprised grunt escaped Simon's mouth, and his lips paused in their assault as he pulled away. His hand reached back to seize Kieren's wrist and pull it from his shoulders, the shirt remaining loosely in place over his back.

"No," he rasped, kissing the scar on Kieren's wrist softly, apologetically. He clasped his hand between them, kissing along his arm gently, pressing his lips to the crease of his elbow and the curve of his shoulder remorsefully, eyes closing again. "Don't look there…"

Kieren swallowed, his other hand sliding to Simon's waist tentatively. "I won't look," he said quietly, scared but also desperate to know what it was the secretive man wanted to keep hidden. His hand drifted under the edge of the shirt, hesitating at Simon's hip. "Can I just…?"

Simon met his gaze for a long, tense moment, his face conflicted. Was that _fear_ in his eyes? Shame, even?

Finally, he nodded. He buried his face in Kieren's neck as the boy's hand slid under the shirt, slowly tracing along his skin to the small of his back. He shuddered, deeply inhaling the scent of Kieren's skin and hair as his long fingers brushed the base of his scar.

Kieren found the wound. He choked as his fingers traced the ragged edges of the skin, counting the staples and stitches by touch. A dry sob escaped his throat, and he felt Simon nuzzle into him comfortingly as he reached the top of the gash by the disciple's neck. He traced all the way back down again, and lifted his torso from the bed to press his lips to Simon's shoulder, collar, throat.

Simon closed his eyes. "Tell you about it, one day," he said quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Right now," he continued, voice lowering as he slid his hands beneath Kieren's hips. "I can think of plenty of ways I'd rather pass the time…"

Kieren shivered, Simon's voice like a caress. He clung to the muscles of Simon's back, carefully avoiding the ragged scar and pulling him down, pressing his body readily against his own and moaning as Simon traced his lips behind his ear and along his jawline. As he tilted his head back and Simon took full advantage of the easy access to his neck, Kieren allowed his eyes to drift closed.

_No, you don't love him._

His breath hitched as Simon's arms wound tighter around him, his lips stroking his skin reverently.

… _Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Simon lost track of time. There _was_  no time, not in here, not with Kieren beneath him and his gasping breaths in his ear. His hands wondered, tracing every line of the lean body below him and feeling a thrill of excitement every time he managed to draw a whimper from between Kieren's parted lips.

_If I can't tell him I love him, I'll etch it into every inch of his skin._

He slid a hand to the small of Kieren's back, and any remaining string of coherent thought left him as the man moaned and bucked his hips. He groaned, his mouth moving back up to claim Kieren's once more, their lips moving together as he gripped his rocking hips with both hands, swaying in time to his movements and drawing the sweetest whine from Kieren's pink-tinged lips. He was on the verge of losing his mind as the boy's teeth dug softly into his lip. He felt feverish as one of those slender hands pulled out from beneath his shirt and went to the back of his head, thumb stroking along his cheekbone and fingers burrowed into his hair. Kieren kissed him into such a trance that he barely even noticed as he reached back up to push his open shirt off his shoulders. But he kept his promise, making no attempt to look at the scar on his back. Simon felt like sobbing in gratitude, but instead showed his appreciation with his lips on Kieren's neck, biting and sucking, moving downwards and teasing more whimpers from his throat. He felt fumbling hands fighting with his belt-buckle and grunted against Kieren's chest, temporarily releasing his hips in order to offer assistance.

After a minute of awkward scrabbling and breathless laughter, the last of their clothes fell to the floor. Kieren sat up suddenly, pulling Simon against his body and pressing his lips to his jaw and throat, returning the kisses Simon had been bestowing on him for longer than he could keep track of. Simon closed his eyes and sighed, combing his hands through Kieren's hair softly. His eyes fluttered open as something occurred to him.

"Ever done anything like this before?" he asked quietly, his voice still rough.

Kieren shook his head against his neck, his arms tightening around his waist. "No. Rick and I…" he gulped, his voice turned hoarse. "We never made it this far…"

Simon's heart ached for him. So young and already so unlucky in love. Only a child when he'd met the love of his life. Barely out of school when it had been taken from him. Only eighteen when he'd decided life wasn't worth the effort anymore. Simon understood what it was to feel like breathing in and out was a pointless endeavour with no end-game reward, but that was just how he was programmed, etched into his DNA just as much as his blood type or the colour of his eyes. It was a state of mind he'd grown to live with, at least from one day to the next. But not even the collected archives of his wretched existence saddened him more than visualising a young, happy Kieren Walker- eyes still shining, voice full of hope- and wondering exactly how long it had lasted before life had turned cruel.

Simon had known the world for a sham from the day he could think. Kieren had learned it the hard way.

 _Except, the world isn't a_ complete  _fuck-up, is it? You know that now._

He kissed the top of Kieren's head softly, comfortingly.

_How could angels exist in a godless universe?_

Kieren pulled his face away from Simon's neck, closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together. Simon just gazed at him, captivated by the way his lips trembled and his eyelashes twitched.

"Hey," he murmured, leaning forward to kiss the tip of Kieren's nose and smiling at his bemused expression. He'd probably been expecting more kissing of the passionate making-out variety. Friendly pecks were rather an abrupt change of pace. Nevertheless, Simon just smiled tenderly, winding his arms around the gorgeous man's lean waist and tugging him gently onto his lap. "Take it slow, okay?"

Kieren nodded, gulping back the dry feeling in his throat. "Yeah," he said quietly, his arms draping over Simon's shoulders. "Yeah, okay. Honestly, I didn't even know we could, um…" he chewed his lip and made a vague gesture between them, and Simon had to bite back a chuckle. "I thought, I don't know, I thought that might be… difficult."

Simon shrugged, pressing a gentle kiss to Kieren's irresistible bottom lip (well, if he insisted on nibbling on it like that with Simon  _literally_ right below him!). "Well, it is different, we have some biological… hindrances, now, for sure. What with the…" he considered how to phrase it. "…insufficient blood flow, and that."

Kieren eyes widened and he glanced down at their laps as something occurred to him. "Fuck. I didn't even think about… well, fuck."

He looked away in embarrassment, and Simon kissed the cheek closest to him with a smile. "Yeah," he muttered, his brow furrowing. "Y'know, I didn't think of that either…" he said, and smirked. "Guess I got carried away- heat of the moment…"

Kieren laughed almost dizzily as the ridiculousness of their situation caught up to his lust-addled brain. "Well," he huffed, and Simon heard the note of disappointment in his voice. "Suppose that kind of throws a spanner in the works, eh?"

Simon grinned wickedly, tightening his arms around Kieren's slim body. "Well, I don't know about you but I have a mouth and ten working fingers," he purred suggestively, brushing his lips over Kieren's chest in a very  _persuasive_  manner and feeling him shiver. "The possibilities are endless…"

Kieren would have blushed beet red if he still had a pulse (oh, if only). He swatted at Simon's arm reproachfully, but made no effort to pull away. "Simon!"

Simon rested his cheek against Kieren's chest and looked up at him, smiling languidly. "Hey, no worries- slow, remember?"

To his absolute delight, Kieren's frowning mouth twitched into a grin. He swooped down into another kiss, and Simon was only too happy to let him take control this time, matching his slow pace with a new kind of simmering desire- smouldering embers in comparison to the roaring flames they'd experienced, but no less intense. Kieren pushed him back down onto the mattress and lay draped across him, hands clinging to his waist as the kiss deepened. Simon reached up to cup his face in his hands, feeling like he could just melt into Kieren's embrace.

_He doesn't love you._

He'd known that for a long time, but from the moment Kieren had cut off his confession it had become an undeniable truth. Whatever it was Simon felt for him, it was not mutual. But the more he thought about it, the less it upset him. Of course Kieren didn't love him. The very notion was ridiculous. They had barely known each other a week, he was still in mourning over Rick Macy, he was still burdened with the guilt of feeling like a traitor to Amy…

_And he's too good for you._

Simon banished the thought, returning Kieren's kisses with increased fervour, the younger man humming appreciatively above him.

That didn't matter right now. What mattered wasn't whether his feelings were returned, now or ever. Right now, the only thing on his mind was Kieren Walker, and the sweet noises he was making as Simon made him feel something beyond the dead silence of his own heart.

Kieren wasn't ready to say the words, or to even hear them for that matter, but right now Simon didn't care. It was a mistake to try to bring it up the first time, he should have known that he wasn't ready yet, but he wouldn't make that error again. He wouldn't rush judgement or tempt fate.

If he had even a chance in Hell of being loved back one day, he would wait as long as it took.

It wasn't like he was going anywhere any time soon.

 

* * *

 

Once he'd finally managed to catch his breath, Kieren felt like he could happily drift into a deep sleep and stay that way all winter. He snuggled his head into the pillow, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he felt Simon's arm drape across him from behind, cold skin heated to a cosy room temperature by their various… activities. He blinked his heavy eyelids and focused drowsily on Simon's hand, lying on the mattress right in front of him. And my, my, what a hand. Kieren almost blushed again just thinking about it.

"I can smell your hair a-burnin'," Simon mumbled, and Kieren couldn't help jumping slightly. He felt Simon smile against his neck, and saw his fingers twitch invitingly. "S'not gonna hold itself, y'know," he said teasingly, laying his hand palm-open on the covers.

Kieren raised his eyebrow and stared at the proffered hand cautiously. "Actually I feel like just looking at it's going to get me pregnant."

Simon chuckled wryly. "But you're dead. And a man."

"You underestimate its power," Kieren said, but smiled and laced their fingers. He felt Simon snuggle closer to his back and fiddled pensively with their interlocked digits, his mind wondering back to its original thought patterns from before he'd found himself so gloriously distracted. He chewed his lip uncertainly as the dizzying hormones cleared and he could think straight again.

_Well. Where do we go from here?_

He found himself making a mental checklist of the things he knew, and his spirit sank further with each bullet point.

_Simon is in love with you._

_You are not in love with Simon._

_Amy probably_ is  _in love with him._

_But even if you don't feel that way about him right now he makes you feel good and you're not about to break it off._

_This will probably result in Simon and/or Amy getting hurt._

_You're screwed._

_Also he accidentally made a sex joke in front of your parents._

Kieren groaned softly as memories of that disastrous lunch came flooding back. Perhaps if it had just been two hours of awkward silence and unintentional innuendos he'd have been able to forget about it, but that wasn't all it was anymore.

Simon squeezed his hand, nuzzling the back of his neck. "What's wrong?" he murmured in response to Kieren's troubled groan.

Kieren shut his eyes against the rising panic. "My parents…"

He didn't elaborate, but Simon understood. He kissed his shoulder and tightened his arm around his torso, holding him close. "It'll be fine. Anyway, that's tomorrow's problem."

"Well, today's," Kieren muttered, glancing at the clock that read 1:06 a.m. and narrowing his eyes. How long had they been there? They really  _had_ lost track of time. Christ, if he still had working blood vessels his face would be verging on crimson.

Simon sniggered and it brought a smile to Kieren's face. He never heard Simon laugh in front of anyone else, it was like a little part of himself that he brought out especially for him. It felt selfish to enjoy that, but the thought warmed his decrepit heart more than he cared to admit.

"It'll be okay," Simon comforted, glancing out the window. "Just said what's on your mind is all. They'll get used to it."

Kieren grimaced, gripping Simon's hand tighter. "Not so sure about that."

"Well, they're gonna have to," Simon said firmly, leaning up on his elbow so he could look at Kieren's face. Kieren tried not to be distracted by his dishevelled hair (which he had probably had a decent hand in ruffling), but when he looked down on him like that with the same intensity that had got them into this position in the first place it was hard not be side-tracked. Simon smiled down at him, keeping his elbow planted and moving his hand to the back of Kieren's neck. "You shouldn't have to hide who you are," he murmured, tracing small circles on Kieren's skin with his thumb and smiling seductively. "Especially not when  _what_  you are happens to be fucking gorgeous."

Kieren rolled onto his back, keeping Simon's hand clasped to his chest and smirking back at him. "'Fucking gorgeous', eh?"

Simon raised his eyebrow. "You sound surprised."

Kieren couldn't find an answer to that, not right now. That was a whole other can of worms, and he had quite enough on his mind already without throwing questions of self-image into the mix. He glanced at the clock again and made to sit up, releasing Simon's hand.

"I should go," he said, scanning the room to find his clothes- he hadn't been paying much attention when they'd first been peeled off. "I don't know if Amy's back yet or not but we'll have a hard time explaining this to her if-"

Simon gripped his shoulder, halting him. His eyes flickered to the clock and then back to Kieren, but he looked down at his chest instead of his face. Kieren could tell he was trying to hide the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and suddenly he felt guilty all over again.

"Stay? For a while," Simon said softly, more question than command.

Kieren hesitated. It would be best to leave- then he could be out of the bungalow without Amy noticing he'd been there, he could be home in time to catch a few hours of sleep before breakfast with the family, maybe if he resumed the normal morning routine they wouldn't bring up the lunch and he could get away without confrontation.

Then again, that would mean sleeping in his cold, narrow, lonely bed, as opposed to sleeping cosily beside Simon in the double they'd spent the last few hours  _thoroughly_ warming up. There really wasn't much contest. Besides, he felt like he owed it to Simon to at least stay a few hours. He didn't want to give him the impression that he was using him for his own ends- what had Simon bitterly called it after that first kiss, 'stress relief'?- only to get up and leave as soon as they were done. God knows he knew how it felt to be brushed off. All those nights when he and Rick would get drunk and mess around, feeling like they were the only two people in the world, only for Rick to sneak home guiltily with a cover story for his dad's benefit. He understood why he did it, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

So he lifted his hand to Simon's chin, lifting his face so he'd look into his eyes, and smiled. "Okay."

Simon's eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. "Really?"

Kieren rolled his eyes, slumping back to the bed and gathering the pillow up to his chest, closing his eyes. "Yes,  _really_. But I'm tired and I have to get up early, so clean thoughts and hands off!"

He could tell from the sound of his voice that Simon was grinning. "Yes, sir," he said, flopping back down beside Kieren and looking into his eyes, raising his arm and letting it hover. "Now, when you say, 'hands off'…?"

Kieren bit back a grin. "Cuddling's fine."

"Couldn't agree more," Simon mumbled, once again wrapping his arm around Kieren's torso and pulling him as close as the pillow clutched in the boy's arms would allow. He pressed his lips against Kieren's hair and smiled, inhaling the scent from his strawberry blond tufts. Kieren nuzzled into him, resting his cheek on the pillow and his forehead against Simon's chest, sighing contentedly.

_Don't lie, Walker- you could get used to this._

A sleepy smile spread across his face as Simon's hand rubbed his back, and he drifted into slumber with the sound of Simon's breathing in his ears and one last sluggish thought in his head.

_Maybe one day you will…_

* * *

It took mere moments for Kieren's breathing to level out, another minute for it to stop altogether as his instincts gave way to the draw of deep sleep. Simon smiled into his hair, breathing in the scent deeply. They didn't sweat anymore or really have a natural odour of any kind (besides a lingering earthy aroma from their time in the ground, of course), but nevertheless there was something so  _Kieren_ about the other scents that clung to his hair and clothes- traces of oil paints and acrylics, the subtle musk of ink and paper that accompanied new stationary, he must be getting through a sketchbook a week. Simon knew he himself wouldn't, couldn't sleep- not when he didn't know when he would get a chance to be this close to Kieren again- so he just enjoyed the scent of his hair and the weight of his head against his chest, looking over him as he watched the sky darken ever further outside.

_It's always darkest before the dawn._

He glanced at the clock, only just realising what time it was. It was past two in the morning, and he'd been lying beside the slumbering boy for at least an hour. The dark night sky would start to lighten soon, possibly in the next few hours. The impenetrable blackness had started to shimmer as the first flakes of snow drifted to the ground, barely strong enough to settle.

There was something Simon had to do.

He slowly rose from the bed, making every effort not to shift or jolt the peacefully sleeping man. When he'd reluctantly pried himself from his side, he fished around on the floor for his clothes, finding them scattered amongst Kieren's many shed layers. The search was fairly simple as they'd both been so caught up in each other that neither of them had bothered to switch off the overhead light all evening. Amy wouldn't appreciate the energy bill this month- Simon swore to himself that he'd pay her back when he could.

Once he was fully clothed he turned back to the bed, and realised that Kieren hadn't so much as stirred. He really  _must_ have tired him out. He tiptoed over and pulled the rumpled blankets up to cover his naked form, for some extra security in case he woke up alone- although Simon hoped with all his heart that he'd be back before then. He didn't want him to think he'd been abandoned.

_And you'd rather not try to explain where you went._

He crouched by the bed, watching Kieren's sleeping face intently, those words he'd banished from his mind for the night returning.

_The First._

He gazed in wonderment at his serene features, and felt his lips curve up into an adoring smile.

_Beautiful._

He stood up, reluctantly tearing his gaze away. He crept towards the door, tugging it open softly and looking back over his shoulder as he flipped the light switch. He wished he could just curl right back up in bed when he saw Kieren's face bathed in silver moonlight. But he turned his back and closed the door, silently promising to be back soon. This wouldn't take long.

He exited into the chilled night air, and spent a second lamenting the fact that his breath was no longer warm enough to mist in front of him. He always used to love that. He buried his hands in his pockets, setting out into the bleak streets with a purposeful stride, brought on both by his dedication to his duty and his desire to crawl back into the sleeping Kieren's embrace. He really had no time to waste on either matter.

Several empty streets away, he found an old phone booth. He strode towards it, pulling open the door and ducking into the temporary shelter as he fished in his pockets for change. He could have used the phone at the bungalow, but he didn't want the number to be recognised or the call to be intercepted. Besides, he and Amy didn't get too many calls- most likely she hadn't even bothered to pay the phone bill since they'd returned to Roarton. Chances were he would have picked up the receiver and been greeted by nothing but empty static.

He dropped the change into the slot and dialled the number he knew by heart, picking up the handset and holding it to his ear as the first rings echoed in the snow-clad silence. He tapped his fingers beside the keypad, a mixture of impatience and apprehension. He knew what he was going to say- a simple 'I've found the First Risen' would suffice. But he didn't know what the reply would be. Would he get his next instructions right then and there or would they leave him hanging until they could arrange a meeting? And what would his next orders be?

_Go to the place where the First rose, and seek them out._

Great, he'd done that. But what now? What would be his orders regarding the First Risen (who was currently curled up in his bed, sleeping soundly with no idea of what he was up to. Fuck.), and what would he need to do to carry them out?

The way the Undead Prophet talked about the First Risen, he sounded like some kind of Messiah- a beautiful, inhuman being, who was destined to lead the Redeemed to liberation. Simon quite liked that idea. Kieren Walker, striding out tall and proud, his natural face shining in the light as he led his kind to their salvation. And God, would he look beautiful, light and power rolling from his presence. That was the kind of revolution Simon would die again to be a part of, a powerful new purpose for his second life, a duty to his faith and to his love.

As the phone continued to ring in his ear, he closed his eyes and prayed to his newfound deity that the two causes could coexist.

Finally, someone picked up. There was no voice on the other end, but Simon knew who was there. He took a deep breath, and spoke.

"I've found the First Risen," he said.

But he couldn't bring himself to stop there.

He turned his head, looking back in the direction of the bungalow and the bed, and the peacefully sleeping form bathed in moonlight. The barest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You should see him," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"He's beautiful."

 

* * *

 

" _And fools rush in_

_And I've been the fool before_

_This time I'm gonna slow down_

' _Cause I think this could be more_

_The thing I'm looking for"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that, because we're probably not gonna get them together like that for quite some time- sadly I am sticking pretty close to the canon (aside from one quite MAJOR change- which you can all probably guess, tbh- that will take place later).
> 
> I'm sorry if I don't update this for a while, but as well as a prompt fill that I've left unfinished for ages I'm also working on a collab fic with some people (which is gonna be stupid, hilarious AND smutty, thank you very much!), so I've got a lot on my plate! Will update when I can though :)
> 
> Until next time! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, baby! :D
> 
> Sorry this has taken so long- I have A LOT on my plate fic-wise at the moment! I'm even hoping to get back to my suspended Sherlolly soon so my load's not gonna lighten anytime soon xD So if I ever take a long time to update, I promise I haven't forgotten about you- I just have a lot of things that need writing right now!
> 
> So, we have a nice long chapter for you this time- very angsty and Kieren-centric. We'll have more Simon next time, I promise!
> 
> Have fun! (or not...)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _Something's happening you can't see_

_We are rolling on stormy seas_

_You don't like when I disagree_

_The lies you're spinning, you're changing me_

_All that glitters is not gold_

_From the bruises flowers grow"_

-'Keep On Walking', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

Simon woke to the sound of fabric rustling. He blinked sleepily, his eyes adjusting to the cold winter sunlight shining through the window. Something was missing.

"Kieren?" he asked, eyes lingering on the empty space on the bed beside him.

"Over here," the hushed voice came from behind him, and Simon rolled over onto his other side with a smile.

Kieren was rooting around on the floor, scooping up his various discarded clothes and groaning as saw how noticeably rumpled they were. He'd have a fun time explaining that to his parents. He was half-naked, so far clad only in his crumpled pair of too-big skinny jeans, and Simon tried not to drool at his bare chest and back as he bent over to search for his other sock.

Kieren noticed his leering and smirked as he straightened up, pulling on the first of his many shirts. "Why don't you take a picture? It lasts longer."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Is that a genuine offer? 'Cause I might take you up on it."

And just like that, Kieren was flustered again. He mumbled something unintelligible and hastily returned to getting dressed, flopping down onto the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and boots. He was busy tying the laces- frantically loosened and left in a tangle the night before- when Simon sat up, draping an arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek in greeting.

"Mornin'," Simon mumbled, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck.

Kieren relaxed, smiling softly and leaning in as his feet fell back to the floor. "Morning."

"Sleep well?" Simon asked, pressing his lips to his collar bone tenderly.

Kieren nodded, slinging his arm around Simon's waist and resting his chin against his hair. "Like the dead. Literally."

Simon snorted, pulling back to look at his face with a grin. "D'you use that joke every morning?"

He smiled but shook his head, picking up his jumper and pulling it over his head. "Nah. Always wanted to, but… well, the death jokes don't go down too well with the folks."

That, Simon could imagine. The stony silence after his little crack about their 'top three meals we don't eat' spoke volumes. It was a shame- he wondered how frustrated Kieren must get at having to keep his innate knack for sarcasm in check. It must have been maddening.

He smiled, resting his hand on Kieren's knee. "Well, round here you can make as many morbid puns as you want, I won't say a word."

Kieren looked at him and grinned mischievously. "Dead men tell no tales?"

Simon laughed, leaning in to plant a kiss on his beaming lips. "That's the spirit!"

He leaned back, but Kieren's arms wrapped around his neck before he could get very far. He grunted in surprise as he was pulled into another kiss, deeper this time. He didn't fight it, melting gratefully into his embrace and cupping his uncovered face in his hands- partly to stop himself from reaching down and once again removing all the clothes the man had spent the last ten minutes putting back on. The temptation was almost overwhelming.

He blinked as Kieren pulled away, attempting to sort his thoughts back into any kind of coherent form. "Keep doing that and there's no way I'm letting you leave this room," he said gruffly, feeling heat coursing through his cold veins once more.

Kieren smiled, kissing him again as he reached back to pull on his jacket.

"As amazing as that sounds," he said between kisses, slowly getting up from the bed with Simon following. "I'll be in some serious shit if I don't get back soon- I'm in trouble enough as it is…" his voice trailed off as Simon continued kissing him, his hands trailing down the disciple's naked sides. He shook his head, grunting as he pulled away and put his hands on Simon's shoulders to put some distance between them. "'Sides, it'll be time for my dose soon."

"Got plenty of the stuff here," Simon said temptingly, nipping Kieren's neck gently above the collar of his jacket.

Kieren shook his head, although he sounded disappointed. "Cheers, but I think I'll stick to the proper stuff," he said, reluctantly pushing Simon away and smiling. "Not sure I fancy taking my chances with the home brew."

Simon rolled his eyes, bending down to pick up his discarded trousers and pretending not to notice Kieren's wandering gaze as he did so. He pulled them on and fastened his belt, fairly assured that he didn't stand a chance of sweet-talking the already fully-dressed man back into bed this morning. Maybe later.

"Simon, you listening to me?" Kieren said grumpily, smacking his shoulder and snapping him out of his fantasies. Simon blinked, banishing all the perfectly impure thoughts from his head and looking at Kieren's expectant face blankly.

The younger man rolled his eyes, gesturing towards the door. "You gonna check if the coast is clear or what?"

Simon glanced to the door and back in confusion a few times before realisation dawned. Amy, that's right. Technically, they were still sneaking around. Christ, they certainly could have gone about this whole business better. "Yeah. Yeah, okay," Simon mumbled, pulling on his shirt and standing up. He reached for the door handle and made sure Kieren was safely out of sight behind the door, offering him a smile before he emerged into the hall.

Amy's door was closed. It had been ajar the night before, the lights off and the bed empty. She must have crept home in the wee hours, possibly not long after he'd snuck back to bed himself. He pressed his ear lightly against the door. Silent as the grave.

"Coast is clear- just keep it down," he murmured after a quick check of the other rooms. Kieren emerged quietly from his shelter behind the bedroom door and made a beeline for the exit, Simon close on his heels.

Kieren stepped out into the pre-dawn light, smiling at the fine layer of snow on the ground.

"Won't last," he said, kicking a fine layer of powder off the step. "Never get proper snow round here. Rain washes it away before long."

"Jesus," Simon muttered, chuckling quietly. "This place can't even handle perpetual winter properly."

"That's Roarton!" Kieren said brightly, turning to smile up at him from the bottom step. "Disappointing. In pretty much every possible way."

"Oh, I dunno," Simon smiled, putting a hand on Kieren's neck and craning his head down towards him. "It definitely got something right," he murmured, staring into Kieren's eyes. Eyes he hadn't bothered to cover with lenses today.

Kieren smiled, lifting a hand to Simon's cheek and tilting his head back, standing on tiptoes to meet his lips. Simon kissed him back gratefully, allowing himself to be moved as Kieren tugged him down to the next step.

When Kieren pulled away, he reached out to take Simon's hand. Simon squeezed his fingers reassuringly as Kieren's gaze wondered off past him, back towards the house where his family was waiting. He chewed his lip nervously, looking down at their joined hands as if hoping to draw strength from the contact.

"Hey," Simon said softly, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "It'll be fine."

"Don't even have my cover-up on," Kieren said, his eyes widening as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

"It's a good look on you," Simon said, grinning flirtatiously. He wrapped his arm around Kieren's shoulders, pulling him against his chest. Kieren pressed his face against his shoulder and snaked an arm around his waist, breathing in deeply. Even with no actual need for the oxygen, deep breaths seemed to be an immense source of comfort Kieren Walker, as if the feeling of air flowing through his decrepit lungs kept him grounded. Perhaps that was his anchor.

Kieren pulled back, taking one more deep breath and releasing Simon's hand. He leaned in to press one last lightning-fast kiss to the Irish man's lips, and departed with one last brave smile. Simon waved after him, pushing down the painful sense of separation as the distance between them grew. He watched Kieren's uneven steps carry him away, wishing he could run after him. But this was something Kieren needed to do on his own. Besides, he had work to do.

He looked down at the door mat. He'd glimpsed something on his way out of the bungalow, but he had to wait for Kieren to leave before he could be sure. But there it was, plain as day, a small corner of white paper poking out from the door mat, exposed by Kieren's kick to the surrounding snow.

Simon crouched down, lifting the edge of the mat and gently tugging the corner of the envelope, being careful not to tear through the damp paper as he worked it out from its hiding spot.

Orders from the top.

 

* * *

 

Kieren made it home without a hitch- so long as he kept his hood pulled up and his shoulders hunched no one noticed the lack of cover-up. It was too early for anyone at home to be up, although he suspected that one or both of his parents were probably lying awake in bed. He took the stairs as quietly as possible- no way he wanted to run into anyone looking like he did. If he woke up Jem at half five in the morning she'd shoot him on sight, contacts or no contacts.

He made it to his room and shed his jacket, flopping down onto the bed with a sigh. He stared up at the ceiling and put his hands behind his head. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to scowl bitterly or grin from ear to ear.

_Well, you have little or no faith left in your family (or humanity in general), you're still sneaking around behind Amy's back, and let's face it that's not even the tip of the iceberg._

_Still, on the bright side: that was a pretty fucking fantastic night, was it not?_

Just this once, he allowed the happy thoughts to take precedence. He needed a break from the doom and gloom. His gaze wondered to the wall, all the portraits he'd painted over the years. Amy's face beamed down at him from several places, and Jem's. His mum, his dad, Rick.

Someone was missing.

With a grin, he leapt up and went for his art supplies, fishing out a sheet of paper and some charcoal. Despite the fact that he'd barely managed three hours of sleep, he didn't feel like he could lie still for even a second.

He didn't usually like to draw people from memory. But hey, with the amount of time he'd spent staring at that face last night, he might as well take a shot.

 

* * *

 

As the weak winter sun rose in the sky and the Walker family began their morning routine, Kieren remained in his room with his hands stained by charcoal. He looked over his handiwork, smiling as he pinned it to his wall by the lamp. Not half bad, considering he'd had no model. Simon's pale face, picked out with delicate lines of black and grey charcoal, smiled down at him. In all honesty he would have liked to sketch him wearing that seductive grin that made him melt, but he knew there was no way to do that little devilish smirk justice without having it in front of him as he drew. Christ, did he wish it was in front of him now.

Over the quiet shuffle of feet in the kitchen, Kieren heard a loud knock on the front door drift through the house. He glanced at the clock on the wall with a frown- quarter past seven, who would be knocking at this hour? Images of Simon popped unbidden into his head and he bounded to the window, tugging the curtain aside slightly and looking down at the driveway to see a woman walking quickly away. A moment later his dad emerged from the house, a flyer clutched in his hand as he confronted the woman.

It was impossible to make out the words on the paper from his vantage point, but Kieren knew what it was. He'd seen enough of the things pasted around town to recognise the pro-living propaganda when he saw it. He frowned down at his dad, who was staring after the now retreating woman with an expression somewhere between anger and fear.

_Fear?_

As Steve made his way back to the house he glanced up at Kieren's window, and his eyes met his son's for a moment before Kieren let the curtains fall closed once again.

For a moment Kieren was too bitter to care that his father had glimpsed him in his natural state. He'd hoped that maybe his own dad would put up more of a fight. Maybe he would hand the flyer back and politely tell the woman to stuff it, stand up for his son in some small way. But no. As she flounced away to spread her toxic literature across the town, Steve had just watched her walk away with the paper dangling limply in his grasp. Cheers, Dad.

Shaking his head and gritting his teeth, Kieren left his room, his feet automatically carrying him to the bathroom as the rush of air from the slamming door rustled the edges of Simon's portrait.

As he approached the sink he reached for a towel and flung it over the mirror, hating himself ever so slightly for it. Well, it wasn't like one wild night would be enough to revamp his entire personality, right? He may have let the mask drop for Simon, but he wasn't quite ready to do that for himself yet. He couldn't help it, seeing the ghostly whites of his dead eyes was still so… unnerving.

_Why?_

His hand, which had been dabbing mousse onto a make-up sponge, slowed its movements and ground to a halt. He stared ahead at the flat, blank surface of the towel, his hands hovering over the sink with the sickly cover-up.

He had no problem seeing Simon with his natural face on show. In fact, he preferred it. Seeing his skin coated with cover-up that day had been horrible, something about it felt so wrong, so false. Why could he gaze into Simon's milky eyes for hours, but barely even glance at his own?

He sighed heavily, dropping the pot of mousse and raising his hands to his face, pushing his fingers back through his hair as the staring match with the covered mirror intensified.

Despite all his big talk at the table yesterday, despite his silent resolution to stop caring, he really couldn't give up trying to fit in that easily, could he?

_Old habits die hard._

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a long, endless vicious circle. People didn't respect you until you respected yourself. You can't respect yourself until you accept yourself. He couldn't even begin to accept himself when no one else could. On and on, the cycle repeats itself. He'd spent enough time playing this game in his first life to know how it always ended.

Maybe this time it could be different…

He turned away, leaving the towel on the mirror and the mousse on the shelf.

Maybe he wasn't done hiding from himself just yet.

But he was sure as Hell done with hiding from everyone else.

 

* * *

 

Kieren tried not to feel hurt at the fear in his father's eyes as he emerged from the hallway into the living room. But the horror in his parents' expressions was nothing compared to the metaphorical stab to the gut as Jem stood up and walked out, yelling over her shoulder.

"I can't look at him when he's like that!" she called, disappearing into the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance.

Kieren felt his throat close up as he took his place at the table, his father's scared gaze on his face. He'd hoped that maybe Jem would be the most… well, obviously he'd had that wrong.

"What's going on, son?" his father asked, worry in his voice.

"Nothing, Dad," Kieren answered, glancing at his mum for support and seeing wide eyes brimming with anxiety. He curled in on himself, already wishing the ground could swallow him up. Jesus, and this was his own  _family!_ As the doorbell rang and his dad hastily ran to answer it, Kieren wished more than ever that Simon was beside him- not necessarily to say or do anything, just to be there. A steady presence, an anchor. He took a deep breath, looking away from his mother's face and down at the table.

_It's okay. It's okay, you're fine. Just stay inside today, just with the family, get used to it. Baby steps._

"Kieren Walker."

He turned his head, frowning as he saw Dean Halton in full RPS uniform advancing towards him.

"Yer under arrest."

"Arrest?" Sue asked, eyes wide. Kieren stared at Dean, his hands gripping the sides of his chair.

"GP's were broken into yesterday," Dean explained at Sue's confused look, brushing past her to where a stunned Kieren was sitting. "Rabids were let loose. They attacked the receptionist- she's in hospital."

"Jesus!" Steve exclaimed, looking between his son and Dean with horror and distrust.

Kieren gaped at Dean, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. "I didn't break into the GP's!"

"Not me who needs convincing," Dean said almost apologetically as he grabbed Kieren's arm and pulled him from his seat at the table. Kieren barely struggled, still too confused and incredulous to say a word as he was dragged to the door.

"Hey, where're you taking him?" Sue demanded, rising from her seat and following the RPS grunt and his captive.

"Parish Council wanna question 'im," Dean answered over his shoulder without much enthusiasm, talking over Sue's objections. "Orders from Ms. Martin, I've got to bring 'im in."

Kieren waited for more protests, and a cold dread washed over him when he realised none were forthcoming. He looked back at his parents over his shoulder as Dean dragged him out, his white eyes wide with fear and disbelief as he saw them looking on silently. "Mum?" he asked, crying out as Dean dragged him through the door. "Dad!"

The door swung shut behind them, and his heart plummeted when no one opened it again.

 

* * *

 

"Alright, then," Pearl said sharply. "Let's 'ear it from yer."

"Hear what?" Kieren asked, struggling to keep a lid on his anger. On top of being dragged from his house and stood in front of a stuffy council like a naughty child being sent to the headmaster's office, now Simon was missing, too? If he'd had any residual good vibes from the previous night, they were definitely dead in the water by now. He kept his hands firmly shoved into his pockets for fear of lashing out at someone- oh, the council would have a field day if he did anything rash. Probably Taser him before he could blink.

"The confession."

"I've nothing to confess," he said calmly, a lot more calmly than he felt. He found himself glancing past his guards to the door, half hoping and half dreading that Simon could waltz in at any moment.

"Rubbish," Abigail Lamb snapped, sneering scornfully. "You and the Irish one broke into the GP's and let loose rabids that mauled the receptionist!"

"That's not true," Kieren protested, although he knew his complaints were falling on deaf ears.

"It saddens me that you've been so led astray, Kieren," Pearl said condescendingly. Kieren bristled, scowling at her as she stubbornly spouted false evidence. "You and yer accomplice were seen coming out of the GP's at the time of the mauling."

"Me and  _Simon_ ," He corrected, more than a little frustrated with their refusal to even refer to his so-called 'accomplice' by name. "Worked together at the GP's a couple of days ago. We haven't been back since."

"Did you like yer time at the treatment centre?" she interjected. "'Cause that's where yer headed if you don't confess."

Kieren gaped at her, his brow furrowing incredulously. "You can't send me back to  _Norfolk!_ "

"Wanna bet?" she challenged, picking up the 'Halperin & Weston: Understanding PDS' pamphlet on the table and flashing the cover at him smugly before flipping to the fine print at the back. He glared open-mouthed at her, shifting about uncomfortably on the spot as the urge to hit something (or someone) intensified. He bit it back, keeping his hands buried as deep in his hoodie pockets as he could. If he lashed out it would only make things worse.

 _Not that this situation can_ get  _much worse._

"'If a PDS sufferer is suspected of breaching their terms of release,'" Pearl read in an authoritative tone, obviously preparing to talk over any and all objections. "'They must be reported to the Department of Partially Deceased Affairs, whereupon the non-compliant patient will be  _detained_ for their own safety and the safety of others."

"I'm not breaching my 'terms of release!'" Kieren insisted, but she wasn't listening.

"'PDS patients who pose a threat to themselves or members of their community are considered dangerous, and the proper authorities should be notified,'" she finished, laying the pamphlet back on the table and looking up at him. "You and yer accomplice have been deemed a threat to yer community."

"I'm not a threat to the community!" Kieren said, shaking his head. How could anyone consider  _him_ a threat? Really?  _Him?_ Of all the wannabe undead radicals that slogged to Giveback every day with bare faces and bad attitudes, they suspected  _him_ of organising a terrorist attack? If he wasn't so angry and terrified he might have laughed.

"Are you the community?" Pearl demanded.

"Yes, I am the…" he trailed off, blinking in confusion. "I don't understand the question."

"It's very simple," she said haughtily. "I'm asking you if  _you're_  the community."

Kieren shook his head slightly, still befuddled by the random question. "…No."

"That's right. Yer not," she gestured to the other council members. " _We_ are the community, and  _we_ have deemed you a threat to it. Now admit yer guilt and we'll hand you a suspended sentence,  _if not,_ " she said loudly and firmly, silencing his complaint. "It's off to Norfolk with yeh."

"What about Simon?" Kieren demanded. He needed to know that much at least.

"Soon as he's found 'e's being packed off," Pearl said emotionlessly.

Kieren clamped his mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose as he felt that familiar dry prickling in his eyes.

_No. Not Simon._

He wasn't an idiot. Though Simon hadn't gone into details about how he'd got that scar on his back, when he considered his words in the GP's surgery the day before it was easy enough to put two and two together. That wasn't the kind of wound you earned from an accident. Something had happened to Simon, some kind of torture or experimentation, and Kieren was willing to bet it had something to do with the treatment centre. If he got sent back there, and as a non-compliant, no less… was the air getting thinner in here?

He pulled his focus back to the room as he felt something being pushed into his hand. A tape recorder. He stared down at it as Mrs. Lamb spoke sharply from her seat.

"Now, confess yer crimes!" she demanded.

He raised it to his lips numbly, thumb hovering over the record button. He could just lie. He could just take credit for the whole thing, maybe they'd be more lenient with him than they would with Simon. Or he could at least get a chance to warn Simon and beg him to confess if confronted, maybe they wouldn't send him away if he played along. Between Jem's avoidance and his Parents' mistrust, it was starting to feel more and more like Simon was the only person on his side anymore, he couldn't just let them…

_So confess, then._

This whole situation was starting to sound a little too familiar. It was like being back in school, doing his GCSE's, his battered copy of  _The Crucible_ open on his desk as he wrote a half-hearted essay on the mass-hysteria of the courtrooms during the witch trials.

He felt anger filling him, clenching his fists and setting his milky eyes ablaze. No. He couldn't confess. What did it achieve? What, he'd get a temporary respite and a criminal record to hang over his head the next time he set as much as a toe out of line. Limited freedom with a chance of blackmail. He couldn't even guarantee Simon's safety- the council had never trusted the mysterious Irish traveller, and his reputation as a troublemaker had only been solidified in Pearl's mind the night he'd dragged Gary away from Kieren in a headlock. No, he didn't doubt for a second that they'd make good on their promise to ship him off to Norfolk on sight. Nothing he could say in here would convince them otherwise.

_You could still save yourself…_

Yes. He could keep pretending. Put the cover-up back on, stroll around in his flimsy mask and play puppet, act like everything was still okay. Act like he was still the same person he had been before the Rising around his family, play the mindless compliant at work, let himself slip back into the background of everyone's life so he would no longer be the focus of attention and they forgot he was ever a 'threat'.

 _Well,_ fuck  _that._

"I didn't do it!" he shouted into the tape recorder, hurling it to the ground at their feet and watching it snap to pieces on the cold, hard floor.

Before he could utter another word he felt one of his guards step up behind him and grip his arm, twisting it behind his back. It wasn't painful to him anymore, but it was still incapacitating. He dropped to his knees, hanging helplessly from the man's hold as he felt his other hand clamp down on his shoulder.

He struggled against the vice-like grip, but all the fight had gone out of him. What was the point? If he broke out of this twat's grasp Dean would jump him without a second thought, and even if he did manage to escape what did he do then? There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. No one to back him up when they came looking for him.

"Good lord," Mrs. Lamb breathed, looking down on him with contempt. "What a monster."

 

* * *

 

_Monster._

The word stuck in his mind, echoing in his subconscious all the way home. He walked ahead of Dean numbly, barely noticing the ground beneath his feet. When he passed the angry mob of protestors outside his house he barely spared them a glance- they were only confirming what he already knew.

_You've always been a monster._

From the day he'd crawled from the ground he'd been a monster. The soulless, vicious killer that everyone feared. Medication and make-up and scripted speeches didn't change that. He'd tried so hard to prove that he  _wasn't_ just the beast that they thought he was. Tried to blend in and keep quiet, go along with all the pretty little lies. When that didn't work, when they still looked at him like he could claw their throats out at any given moment he'd given up. Let his real self out for the day, freed his skin from the layers of lies. When they'd pushed him to breaking point he'd allowed himself the luxury of snapping- and now, at the end of all that, all he'd managed to do was give them what they wanted. Make them feel like their fears were well-founded, give them the reason they'd been waiting for to keep him on a leash.

 _You'll always_ be  _a monster._

And it wasn't just them. Everyone agreed. Dean stood guard outside his house to make sure he didn't crawl away and devour some hapless passer-by. His sister took one look at his white eyes and stormed right out of the house without a word. Even his father…

He'd sat by as Steve had tried to convince him to sign the confession papers he'd been handed. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much if he'd just been doing it because he thought it was his son's best chance, but it was more than that.

He believed that he'd done it.

Kieren could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He honestly believed that he and Simon had…

He felt his fury bubbling ever closer to the surface. He felt both relief and anger as his parents both got up to leave him behind in the deserted house. He seethed with quiet resentment as his Dad asked if he'd be alright on his own like he was some kind of toddler, and barely bit back a scream of frustration as he slapped the paper and pen down in front of him meaningfully. That little dotted line stared up at him accusingly, waiting patiently for him to scrawl his signature and seal his fate.

He carried the repulsive thing to his room at arm's length, smacking it down on his desk and collapsing onto his bed tiredly. He lifted his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes as the itchiness returned. He felt like his head was going to explode.

He sat up with a heavy sigh, swinging his legs off the mattress and resting his elbows on his knees as he surveyed the room from the edge of his bed. He glared at the form, and rolled his eyes up and away from it as he felt that little nagging urge to just sign it and get it over with. He wouldn't give in that easily.

His gaze landed on something else, halfway up the wall over the desk and standing out in stark contrast to the bright colours of his paintings. Simon's portrait, his charcoal features gazing out at Kieren from the flat surface of the paper.

God, could Kieren do with seeing that face right now.

He got to his feet, pulling up his hood and striding determinedly to the back door. If he was going to be stuck under house arrest for the foreseeable future, there was someone he needed to talk to first.

 

* * *

 

"Where the fuck are you?" Kieren muttered under his breath as he patted down the bed and shook out the pillows, hoping against hope that he might find some kind of note meant for him. Nothing to be found.

He'd been right about the snow disappearing- it was already nothing more than fine grey sludge by the time he reached the bungalow. He'd been let in by those shifty followers of Simon's- Zoe and Brian, he thinks, although he'd never really bothered to learn their names. The pair of them seemed to have moved themselves into the bungalow with no sign of moving on. Like termites. Still, he didn't have time to be pissed off with them right now. Not when Simon seemed to be doing his utmost to keep him off his scent.

He crouched down by the chest of drawers, glancing up at the mirror. He frowned when he saw the crumpled photo- Simon, looking human as human can be, sitting beside a woman with hair as dark as his own. His mother?

_Huh. So he did have blue eyes._

Kieren shook his head, returning to his search. Plenty of time to ask about it later, along with all the other questions he needed answered.

_Jesus, where is he?!_

He didn't know what he was searching for- some kind of note, perhaps? It made sense that if Simon was going to leave him a message he'd leave it somewhere Amy wouldn't look- technically they were still having it off behind her back. Kieren cursed himself silently. He was being an incredibly shitty friend about all of this. He'd talk to her. He would.

…Just as soon as he'd worked out where the bloody Hell Simon had gone.

His fingers closed around something. Something small and cylindrical. He pulled it out, half expecting to find a bottle of unused contact lens fluid or some of the officially licensed neurotriptyline that the disciple avoided like the plague.

He saw the blue glass, and his black blood ran cold.

"What the…" he breathed, turning the bottle over in his hand. The pill rattled around inside, and Kieren knew that if he tipped it out it'd be as blue as the glass it was encased in.

Blue Oblivion.

_Christ, Simon…_

Well, yet another question to add to the list. Fucking hell, he'd had this stuff for god knows how long. Every time Kieren visited the bungalow, all through last night, he'd had this stuff just rattling around in his drawers not ten feet away. His cheeks flamed, both with anger and embarrassment. He really didn't know who Simon was, did he?

"What you doing?"

"I'm, er," he said quickly, pocketing the bottle as discreetly as possible. He was going to confront Simon about them later, and he knew he stood a better chance of getting a straight answer if he held the evidence in his hand. Simon had a bad habit of evading questions. He straightened up and turned round, and felt guilt settle in his stomach once more at the sight of Amy leaning against the doorframe. She looked different to when he'd last seen her. She seemed…  _tired_. Worn round the edges. Did she look like that yesterday? Would he even have noticed? Jesus, he was a terrible friend.

"I'm looking for Simon," he said truthfully. He was sick of telling lies. Besides, the need to find the missing Irishman had just become more urgent than ever. "Have you seen him? If the patrols catch him he's gonna get sent back to the treatment centre."

Amy shook her head, worry clouding her features. She didn't look well at all. She was clutching what looked like a bundled-up tent to her side, and the hand on the strap was trembling slightly.

"What's wrong?" Kieren asked. It was horrible, seeing her like this- what was going on?

"Loving the new look you're rocking," she said cheerily, hastily changing the subject. She gestured to his bare face with a grin. "Very handsome, Handsome!"

He smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Does he like it?"

The smile dropped from his face. He stared wide-eyed at her sickly face as she looked down and picked at a splinter on the doorframe. He didn't know what to say. Where did he begin?  _So you know, then? I swear I was going to tell you! I didn't mean for it to go this far! Wait, how much do you know? Shit. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, if there's anything I can-_

"How do I look?" she asked brightly, changing the subject once again.

He gaped at her for a second, silently thanking her for giving him some time to think. If he was going to talk to her about this he'd like to have the right words to say. "Moregeous," he said as sincerely as he could. There was no denying that she looked unwell, but she was his friend. She'd already been far more patient with him than he deserved.

"You have to say that," she said, smiling fondly at him. "You're my BDFF:"

"Best Dead Friend Forever," Kieren recited with her, smirking. His face fell as the guilt returned. He didn't really think he deserved the title anymore. "Look, about me and Simon…" he began lamely, before quickly realising he had absolutely no idea how to continue.

He heard a door slam in the house, and had a moment of panic as he realised how late it must be getting. If he didn't get back soon… Well, he didn't want to think about it. "I'm sorry, Amy, we'll talk later, I have to go," he said, brushing past her regretfully. "I'm under house arrest."

"House arrest?" Amy breathed, her eyes wide. Kieren turned to face her and nodded sadly. "God," she sighed, rolling her eyes and laughing humourlessly. "This place is going to Hell!"

"You're telling me," Kieren rasped, turning his back and starting towards the door. He needed to get out of there, before he got found, before he was missed, before he said something he shouldn't…

"Kieren Walker?"

He turned back again, looking at her expectantly. "Yeah?" he asked tentatively, almost scared of what she had to say.

She met his gaze for a moment. Then she shook her head slightly. "Nothing," she said with a tired smile. "Take care. I mean it!"

He nodded, smiling bravely as he once again made to leave. It was better this way. He'd talk to her later. He had to. He had so much else to worry about now- Simon, Norfolk, his parents, he'd give his BDFF the full attention she deserved once he'd sorted out all the other messes in his life.

_Well, if you get the chance to talk later._

He froze with his hand on the door handle. His fingers clenched as he thought of everything that awaited him when he got home- livid parents, no doubt. A confession he may or may not sign. A loyal RPS guard-dog who was ready to either keep him under house arrest until he confessed or help manhandle him to the detention centre. For all he knew, this could be his last day in Roarton for a long time to come.

He spun around, his hand flying from the door handle as he stepped back into the hallway, standing face to face with a surprised Amy. "I'm sorry," he blurted, reaching out and taking her hand. "I mean it, I'm sorry for, well, everything. How I've handled everything, I've just… I've fucked up, and I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey," she said, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him. "Easy there, Handsome- no need to get your knickers in a twist!"

He stared wide-eyed at her as he pulled his face away from her hand. "So… you're not angry?"

"Well, it was a shock to be sure," she said with a tilt of her head. "I certainly wasn't expecting to see you two snogging in the street."

"Shit," he muttered, wincing. Well, that was that, she'd officially found out in the worst possible way. He wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground. Again.

"But the more I thought about it," she continued, taking both of his hands and letting them swing between them. She shrugged, tossing her hair out of her face. "Well- he was never mine in the first place, was he?"

Kieren looked down at his feet guiltily. "I… I didn't mean to, y'know, step on your toes or-"

"Kier," she said, dropping his hand and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "I'm fine," she said with a small smile. "Really. Okay, it might've been nice for you to at least give me a heads up before you swept Mymon off his feet but…" she shrugged. "Well, what's done is done."

Kieren felt his eyes prickling in that irritating way they did when his dead body couldn't muster the tears. "I really am sorry…"

"Hey, it's alright," she said softly. Then she grinned, raising both her hands to his cheeks and pinching them. "Besides, how could he have resisted that moregeous mug of yours, eh?"

He laughed hoarsely, smiling at her. He held out his arms and she stepped into them, tucking her face into his shoulder as he rubbed her back and sighing against his neck. He pressed his face to her hair with a smile. "What did I do to deserve you as a friend, Amy Dyer?"

"Probably something  _horrible_  in your first life," she laughed, winding her arms round his waist.

"Hey, if you're my eternal punishment, I'm glad I was no saint," he said sincerely, tightening his grip on her shoulders.

They stood like that for a minute, just breathing each other in before they parted to face their own trials. When she finally broke the embrace she smiled warmly at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

"You're off the hook for now, Kieren Walker," she said, putting on a serious face. "But I'll be having a little chat with you and that boy toy of yours soon enough."

"I don't doubt it!" Kieren laughed, his hands sliding from her shoulders and down to her hands. He regarded her sadly, his thoughts returning to that unsigned confession on his desk. "When will I see you again?" he wondered quietly, mostly to himself.

She looked heartbroken when she replied: "I've no idea."

He looked down at her thin hands clasped in his own, noticeably shaking. "Amy," he said quietly, meeting her gaze. "Are you okay?"

She smiled reassuringly at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I don't know."

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers softly, looking into her eyes. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head slightly, releasing his hands and gripping his shoulders. "No can do, partner. I'm afraid I've got to battle this one out alone," she gave him a brave little smile, reaching into the paper bag that hung beside the bundled tent. "But I did mean to give you this…" she said quietly, pulling out an unsealed envelope and a pen. She licked the seal and closed it, scribbling his name on the front and handing it to him. "Do us a favour and don't read that for a while? Wait 'til tomorrow, yeah?"

He stared her down, not liking her tone of voice. "What is it?"

" _Promise?"_ she insisted, holding up her other hand and extending her little finger. "Super serious pinkie swear?"

He sighed, but eventually lifted his finger to touch against hers. "Fine. Super serious pinkie swear."

She smiled, letting him take the envelope from her hand. "Good. That's my BDFF!"

He returned her smile, but kept his voice low. "Amy, please, just tell me this: you're not planning on doing something stupid, are you?"

"No, 'course not," she said. It wasn't a lie- as far as she was concerned, whatever she was planning was the most logical course of action. Still, it made Kieren nervous.

"Okay," he said slowly, watching her carefully. "Well, just take care, alright?" he said, squeezing her hand once more before he released her and backed away a step. He'd already been out too long, they could come out looking for him at any moment. "I mean it," he said firmly, echoing her words.

She rolled her eyes at him fondly. "Don't worry,  _Mum,_ I'll be fine. Look both ways before crossing the road and everything!"

He grinned, ducking forward to kiss her forehead before making his way back to the door. "We'll talk soon, okay?" he said, looking back at her over his shoulder.

"Okay," she whispered, clutching the tent close to her side as he gave her one last wave and disappeared into the bleak Roarton evening.

 

* * *

 

"Where the 'ell 'ave you been?" Steve demanded, rising from the sofa with his face cast in shadows.

"I…" Kieren began, but he couldn't answer. He'd been ambushed- what kind of explanation could he give them that wouldn't get him in even more trouble?

"I was just about to let Dean know you'd gone," Steve said warningly.

"If he'd have done that, Kieren…" Sue said sharply, her arms crossed over her chest.

Kieren stared at them both in disbelief. He turned to his mother, pleading for her understanding with his eyes. "I had to go out, Mum," he insisted. She didn't meet his gaze.

"Where'd you go?" Steve asked. "Can you at least not lie about that?"

Kieren stared at him, shaking his head incredulously. Did they have  _any_ trust in him whatsoever, anymore? He turned to his mother again, desperately seeking support. "Mum…"

She remained silent. He inhaled deeply, drawing as much strength from his lungs as he could before he turned back to face his father.

"I went to look for Simon."

It definitely wasn't the answer Steve had wanted to hear. He clenched his jaw, turning to look at his wife as he spoke. "It's happening all over again, Sue," he said, turning back to Kieren and staring him down. "Someone puts a spell on him, and it all ends in disaster."

Kieren gaped at his father, shaking his head. He didn't even know where to begin. Was it really so ridiculous that he would try to be his own person of his own accord? Was that how they saw him- just some impressionable kid who latched onto men and let them lead him on? Is that all Rick was to them? Just a boy who bewitched their son and caused his death?

He didn't know what he resented more; that they would automatically assume that Rick and Simon, two of the most important people in his life, were just out to use him. Or that they thought he was just some kind of spineless teen with no will of his own. While it was true that he couldn't completely vouch for Simon's motives as of yet- his mysterious disappearance was definitely a spanner in the works- he was not under the disciple's thumb. In fact, if last night was any indication he'd say it was the other way round. "Mum," he said, desperately trying to get her back on his side. "Can you tell him I'm not under anyone's  _spell?_ "

"How can we ever trust you again, Kier?" Steve demanded. Sue made no effort to speak.

"You can start by not siding with the  _mob,_ Dad!" Kieren said bitterly.

Steve straightened up and stared him down. "I'm just concerned for this family's safety."

Heavy silence fell across the room. Kieren stared at his dad's stoic face, his mind reeling. Was he…?

Kieren gulped, taking a step towards his father.

"You scared of me?" he asked, his voice catching.

"I am," Steve said bluntly. Kieren felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "I'll admit it, when you're acting like this."

"Acting like  _what?_ " Kieren cried.

"I don't even recognise you anymore!" Steve said harshly.

"This is  _who I am!_ " his son advanced towards him, his eyes wide and his face desperate.

His father took a step back.

Kieren froze, staring speechlessly at Steve.

_He's not lying._

_He really_ is _scared of you._

"Jesus," Kieren breathed, disgust in his voice as he stormed away to the stairs. He couldn't look at either of them right now.

 

* * *

 

He stared at the confession form, his hand suspended with the pen above the line. Just one little signature. He'd heard his parents' voices, floating up from the living room to his vantage point on the stairs. They wanted to send him back. Pack him off to the treatment centre so he'd be someone else's problem. If he refused to confess, there was no way either of them would fight for him now. Once again, he was on his own.

One little signature and he might have a chance.

He dropped the pen, barely waiting for it to clatter to the hard surface of the desk before he had the paper in his hands and torn to pieces.

_No more pretending._

He let the fragments flutter to the table, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he straightened his neck and opened his eyes he found himself face to face with the charcoal portrait, Simon's piercing gaze on his face.

"I have to say something to you," Kieren said firmly, imagining the real Simon standing before him. "I don't know what it is you want, or where you've gone. To be honest, I'm not sure I even  _want_ to know. But right now I have bigger things to worry about."

He stared the drawing down, unloading his frustrations and clearing his head with every word. "I don't have time to spend wondering why you're doing what you're doing. I'd love to just lie down, close my eyes and try to work it out, but that requires time and that's one thing I don't have. For a while last night, you made me feel…" he shook his head. "Well, you made me feel loved. Not many people have done that recently. For a while I really thought that you meant it. You're gone now, and I don't know if it's because you had somewhere to be or you just wanted to get away, but I don't have time to figure it out. I could spend my entire second life trying to just fucking decode you, but right now it's just one extra riddle that I really don't fucking need. I thought you were on my side, and maybe you still are, but that doesn't count for  _shit_ when I can't even find you. I have to get myself out of this now. Whatever happens to me now… I'm alone."

He gulped, feeling his eyes itch and his throat close. But he kept his gaze fixed, kept his voice level. "Isn't it always the way?" he said with a humourless laugh. "But that means it's all up to me. I'm in this mess now, and that means I have to get myself out. And that means I don't have time for distractions."

He planted his hands on the desk, leaning forward so his eyes were level with the portrait's. "Whatever's going on with you, with  _us,_  I don't have time for it now. If I come out the other side of this, then I'll have time to talk to you and work you out, but right now…" his gaze turned hard. "Right now, I think it's best if you keep your distance."

He sighed, straightening up and breaking eye contact with the drawing. He slid his hands into his pockets as he felt his energy drain away, like his heated debate with an emotionless sketch had sapped his strength.

His hand brushed something, and he pulled out the sealed envelope. His name, underscored by a sweeping kiss, adorned the front. The seal was still damp.

He moved to place it on his desk, atop the scattered remains of his unsigned confession. He had promised to leave it alone until tomorrow, after all.

But then he remembered the way her hands had trembled. The sadness in her eyes and the pain in her smile.

He glanced up at the clock. 12:04 a.m.

Well, technically it was already tomorrow.

He ran his fingers under the flap, breaking the seal.

As he removed the contents and the paper unfolded, he felt the cold air rush from his lungs.

 

**Last Will & Testament of Amy Dyer**

 

* * *

 

" _I feel so much better now you're not around_

_There's no one to kick me while I'm down_

_No one to burn my bridges anymore_

_So keep on walking_

' _Cause I'm not here to make you feel good_

_To dry up your tears and apologise for you_

_I feel so much better now you're not around_

_So keep on walking out"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep y'all waiting for so long! Hope it lived up to expectations!
> 
> A few notes, firstly, on Kieren and Amy- I hate hate HATED the way they left it with those two in the series, hence why I did my own thing with it because YOU'RE BDFFS, YOU CAN'T LEAVE THINGS ALL WEIRD LIKE THAT! I just wanted things to be okay :( (so yeah, as you can tell I'm starting to go a little AU with this thing. More fun that way! I like being able to write my own dialogue :D)
> 
> Secondly, about Kieren's hair- this is just an interesting thing I was considering. He looks so blonde in the series, doesn't he? But Luke Newberry's actually pretty damn ginger, and I was wondering why he looked so different for the majority of the series- then I realised they must do a lot of editing on the colouring of the shots to make everything look much bleaker than it is, make it more in-keeping with the dull, grim nature of the show and the situation. I just thought it was interesting- I really noticed the difference in episode 6, when Si and Kier are waiting in the GP's surgery. I don't know, I think his hair looks closer to his natural shade in that shot than it does most of the time. So yeah, I've been referring to him as blonde/strawberry blonde a lot in this, but I'm thinking I might mention the bleak, draining nature of Roarton at some point, maybe Simon pointing out how red his hair looks in the sunlight or something, that could be a cute moment :D
> 
> So yeah, next chapter we'll be having episode 5 from Simon's perspective, so don't miss out! Will contain flashbacks and feels!
> 
> Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, yo! Sorry this has taken so long, had a lot on my plate!
> 
> Anyway, I deeply apologise if this chapter is a horrific mess, it's a very different style to previous chapters but I wanted to give it a go, normal service will be resumed next time! I should warn you right now that this chapter is basically a solid block of angst (it's episode 5 from Simon's POV, what did you expect?) with many references to drug use, experimentation/torture etc. I did my best, but if it's terrible I'm very very sorry :/
> 
> Anyway, happy reading!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _Just one step, a different day_

_Would I know you at all?_

_Would I know you at all?_

_When the kingdom falls and your family fades_

_But it wasn't your fault, it was never your fault."_

-'Alive', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

The city lights fade into darkness, their impressions lingering on his retinas. He glances at his watch- it's gone past eleven, and he still has a long way to go. All the more time alone with his thoughts. Fuck.

Simon's eyes flutter closed and he draws in a deep, steadying breath, the way Kieren had taught him to.

_Kieren._

They snap open once again as he gasps for breath- suddenly there's not enough air, not even for his useless lungs. He digs his blue-tinged nails into the seat at his side. The walls seems closer now, he barely has room to move, or even to breathe.

More breaths. Deep, calming, filling and draining the parched void in his chest.

His head falls against the window, pale eyes gaze out at the rolling landscape- city fading to suburbs fading to countryside. At least two hours of silent travel to go, and a decision still has to be made.

He hunches over with a pained sigh, running his hands through his gelled hair and not giving a damn about the style. With his eyes closed and his mind in overdrive, he lets memories, old and new and sweet and painful, wash over him.

 

* * *

 

The damp envelope squelches between his fingers, and his ragged nails easily shred the sodden paper, peeling it away in strips from the plastic slip within. Two objects- a train ticket and a room key, the name of the hotel inscribed on the fob. He glances at the destination on the ticket, and knows what he has to do.

Cover-up applied and contacts in, he sneaks past the less-than-vigilant man at the ticket office and boards the train, sliding into a seat in the darkest corner and avoiding eye contact as he is whisked away from the bleak Roarton morning.

It is almost two hours before he finds himself in the city. Another thirty minutes before he finds the hotel. Another God knows how many hours pacing the dingy room, wearing a trench in the drab, threadbare carpet.

The sun has long set when he hears the door. He turns away from his view of the city lights, his darkened eyes landing on Julian. With a smile of familiarity and a warm embrace, he watches as the disciple sets his bag down on the bed and unzips it. He talks excitably, his mind filling with images of a boy with strawberry blonde hair and gentle eyes, a boy who could be the answer to all their prayers and the end to their suffering. He could have talked about him forever if he didn't have an urgent message to hear.

As he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward expectantly as Julian slides the DVD into the decrepit player, he allows himself an eager smile. For the moment, he forgets about his misgivings. The Prophet is wise- he was their leader for a reason- but he is also kind. He knows what's best. What he thought was best had to be the best for everyone- including a certain sarcastic eternal-eighteen year-old with a penchant for morbid jokes.

As the static subsides and his cloaked face appears, Simon hangs on every word from his saviour's mouth with bated breath. With each passing syllable, he feels his smile slip.

"You must sacrifice the First Risen…"

_Smooth skin, a soft smile. "Morning…"_

"On the twelfth hour…"

_A smirk- part awkward, part arrogant. "'Fucking gorgeous', eh?"_

"Of the twelfth day…"

" _Want me to stop?" a whispered breath in his beautiful boy's ear, their eyes meeting in the glow of the streetlamp._

"Of the twelfth month…"

_A quiet gasp, hands clutching his own. "No."_

"The First Risen must be sacrificed."

_A kiss, long and deep, warm despite the cold rain on their dead skin._

"Only then can the Second Rising occur."

As the screen turns to static, his mind turns to chaos. He swallows down sickness as Julian presses the heavy leather package into his hands. He forces a smile as the disciple departs, leaving him alone in the grimy room with nothing but his thoughts. He bites back black bile as new images invade his head, gentle kisses and tender touches replaced with blood and pain, wide doll eyes that scream betrayal.

"No," he rasps, staring numbly at the package in his hands. "It wasn't supposed to…"

He can't even finish his thought. What was supposed to be their blessing has become their curse.

He is pacing again, his fingers twitching as restlessly as his frantically shuffling feet. The walls are closing in, he has no room to breathe. He slumps into the corner, the city lights at his back as he clasps his throbbing head in his hands, guarding his ears from the noises that grow louder every second. He closes his eyes to the background noise as it creeps ever closer to the foreground, angry hissing and cold, mechanical beeps. Familiar. Painfully so.

" _Where…"_

White, so much white.

" _Am…"_

Blood, bile, toxic black staining the white and turning it to rotten grey.

" _I?"_

Everything is cold and sharp. Straps bite into his wrists, his ankles, his neck. It should be painful, but all he feels is pressure.

Before long, the straps are replaced with chains, the rack with a chair. He stares uncomprehendingly at his own face, feeling like he may as well be watching a stranger. Grotesque, soulless eyes, waxen skin, blue-tinged lips that had so recently been stained black. He wants to count the differences between his old face and the horrifying creature before him, but he's not sure he can remember his old self. Memories come and go, slipping through his fingers so fast he might as well be snatching at snowflakes in a blizzard.

He barely hears the scientist, too transfixed by his own cold eyes staring back at him. One sentence grabs his attention.

"There's a cure?" he murmurs, looking up hopefully into the bright, living eyes of Dr. Weston.

"With your help, there could be."

It's all Simon needs. He agrees to their terms, taking one last look at his reflection and hoping that he need never look into the eyes of the beast again.

 

* * *

 

Trapped again, his head tied down along with his stiff limbs. He timidly questions the actions of John Weston as he tightens the strap over his forehead, but raises no further complaints. He can't afford to deprive them. They're his only chance.

" _Until I'm fixed?"_

He swallows his fear. He has no time for fear if he wants to get better.

As a hundred volts of electricity surge through his head, searing his cells with agony his frayed nerves shouldn't be able to feel, his body starts to shake and his white eyes roll back. There is too much pain to even scream through so he bears it in silence.

He is torn between relief and fear as the light goes, taking the pain and the heat with it. He gasps and pants, his eyes rolling in his immobilised head as he searches for something, anything or anyone, just don't be alone. Don't be-

"You are the First and the Last."

Red light pours over him, the disembodied voice crackling from the speakers above his head. Warped, distorted, speaking in a vernacular he knew well. A childhood of Bible readings, Sunday church services and hands clasped at the dinner table flood back. He finds himself latching onto every word, still gasping for his unnecessary breath as the voice cuts out, the crimson glow fades and the pain returns. The first of many waves to come.

At least it was a feeling.

 

* * *

 

" _Believe him, Simon."_

Simon watches Julian's face, tilted back against the cold ceramic tile as he sleeps. His words resonate with him. It just seems such an impossible request- he spent his entire first life not believing in anything. Life, humanity, divine intervention, each seemed as pointless as the last. He often thought of himself as the world's worst Catholic- it hardly spoke well of your religious orientation when you could barely bring yourself to believe in your own deity. He went along with it, sang the hymns and said the prayers and leafed through the delicate pages of the Bible he kept on his bedside table, but every turn of the page felt like going through the motions. He never saw a reason to believe in God, or to believe that a human life was anything more than a struggle for survival before inevitably fading to nothing, lost in time. He'd had no reason to believe in an afterlife until he'd had one thrust upon him. No reason to believe in demons until he had become one.

_No reason to believe in angels until he laid eyes on one. Kissed his lips, held his hands in his own._

Now, for the first time in his twenty-seven years of life before death- and however many years after- he actually longs to be among the living. To feel that dull thud in his chest because it's better than the alternative. To feel air filling his lungs because it was a vital force of life, not just a reflex. He is going through the motions again, and now it feels more hopeless than ever before.

He doesn't want to be a dead thing anymore. Even before that last fatal dose that stopped his heart, he'd been long gone. Resigned, numb, his lungs inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide out of some dull sense of obligation to his shell of a body. Now that there is no reason to breathe, no warmth in his veins and no nerves left to feel, he is empty. Hollow. Frozen.

For the first time in his lives, he wants to thaw.

 

* * *

 

It is a slow process, tedious and harrowing at the same time. He has no idea how long he lets John and Victor poke at his flesh like a body on a slab (which is all he is, in the end). All he knows is that with each passing day life seems to slip further from his grasp. Sunrise, sunset, no change.

They inject him with chemicals he has no name for, stimulate parts of his brain he hadn't even known existed, pick at his deadened nerves in a desperate attempt to make him feel something, anything. No change.

_Skin smooth as silk, white as snow and just as cold._

At least six needles in his arm, delivering their lab-grown toxins to his sluggish veins. No change.

_Lips, cold and blue but warmed to an almost human shade of pink as he kisses them, over and over._

Electrodes on his chest, charging his heart with enough electricity to kill anyone with a pulse. No change.

_Hair, golden-red, thick atop his head and dusted lightly like down across his body, his arms, legs, stomach, chest, feather-soft to the touch._

He wonders what they can do. What can be done to make his dead body feel when even his living, breathing flesh had been numb to the world? Dangerous, often untested compounds had been his solution the first time around- it seemed history had a habit of repeating itself. No change.

The first new feeling he feels isn't physical. It's not the cold of the tiles at his feet or the warmth of his covers on his creaky bed. No, this feeling is all in his head.

The feeling is betrayal.

The foundation feels heavy on his face, the contacts over his eyes the wrong colour, completing his poorly applied mask. His pleading falls on deaf ears as John departs, his white coat sweeping behind him as he leaves Simon waiting in his room, his shoulders hunched and his fists clenched. He isn't ready. He isn't fixed yet. He's still a creature, a dead thing, a demon. He wants to keep his face as far from the light of day as possible until he once again has eyes that can sting and skin that can burn.

When Simon walks he walks with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience. His parents are here already, somewhere. Waiting to see him. What are they expecting? What will they have to say? He hasn't seen them for years. He was twenty-three when he'd last seen his mother's face- right before he went to start his new life, his better life, overseas and away from the memories. How was he to know that certain kinds of sadness would travel any distance to keep you in their grasp?

When he sees his father's haggard face, he forgets how to breathe.

Their words are short, stilted. His father feels the strain of talking to the monstrous remains of his late son. Simon feels the weight of a lifetime of apologies, not knowing where to even begin. And so, because he needs to see another face, a tender face that he knows well, he asks one simple question.

"Where's Mum?"

Over the next thirty seconds, Simon feels his world collapse, his feeble grip on his life and his past slip. He is caught in a storm as the reality of what he's done hits him, and in that moment everything he thought he knew about himself becomes harsh, unavoidable reality.

He is a monster.

He has blood on his hands. Blood from a body he'd loved, the body that had first breathed life into him. He kicks and screams, he cries out as his father disappears, replaced by guards and electric jolts that send his flailing body into spasms. He lets them drag him away across the cold, hard floor and sobs because he deserves it, every bit of it.

He has the feelings back now. Clouding his mind, threatening to explode from his mouth, pour from his fingertips as he claws the sheets and drags his nails across his unfeeling skin. Feelings he knows too well from his first life. Guilt, sorrow, worthlessness. Emptiness.

No change.

 

* * *

 

They can't cure him. He knows that now. All of this, every shock and every needle, it can't undo what's been done. Even if his heart beats and his blood flows, he will never be who he was. What he was.

"I don't want to do this anymore…"

They're there, right behind him, poking around with skewers and scalpels. All he can feel is blunt pressure, things being prodded and pushed around. He hears a tap and knows it's the sound of metal clicking against his open spine.

"D'you hear me?"

But either they don't or they won't. He can't move, can't leave, his arms are pinned and his body is gutted. He wants to run away, run and hide, but he remains bound like Christ on the cross and there's nothing he can do as his pleas fall on deaf ears.

At that moment, he swears he can feel every cut and every stab.

When they leave him alone in the dark, his flesh open and his body vulnerable, he barely fights back a panic attack.

When he hears the distorted voice again, all its pretty words and promises washing over him in the dark, he feels a glimmer of hope in the shadows.

But then it's gone.

Left behind twice, once by the doctors who claimed to cure him, and again by the voice who claimed to save him. Nothing is clear anymore, no one is right and no one is wrong. Slowly, painfully, he is being torn apart.

Alone in the dark, with the phantom pain creeping up his back and eating away at him like a cancer, he cries himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He isn't ready, He knows he isn't ready.

But he'll never be ready, not really. There is no cure for being a monster.

His father doesn't lash out, verbally or physically. He just drives.

Nearly three hours, and not a word is spoken.

As they cross the threshold of the old house, Simon pretends not to notice the crossbow propped against the door frame. When his father talks about getting food, he realises no one's told him that his son doesn't eat anymore.

"Fish and chips?" Simon suggests.

He's in no hurry to shatter the illusion.

For a while, it almost seems to work. He forces down a few bites of food, even knowing that it'll be nothing but bile by the end of the evening. His father makes a few attempts at small talk, and Simon does his best to be encouraging. He owes him that much.

Guilt twists in his gut- not one inch of the house is free of her. Photos on the wall, her books on the shelves, her favourite ornaments on the mantelpiece. When dinner is over and his stomach starts turning he excuses himself, and his father is only too happy to let him go.

He retches over the black-splattered sink, dry-heaving until he's sure his system's purged. As he raises his head he meets his own gaze in the mirror, and resists the urge to throw up again. No wonder his father will barely look at him- even under the cover-up and contacts, he's so obvious. His eyes are the wrong colour, flat and emotionless. His skin looks false, tinted yellow like parchment. His mask is slipping, but it was never in place to begin with.

He rinses out the sink and watches the black swirls drain away, and wishes he could wash away the last four years just as easily. With guilt in his stomach and his mother's face on his mind, he goes to find his father.

An apology won't fix anything. But it has to be done.

Unfortunately, Iain Monroe thinks otherwise.

"All right," he says gruffly before Simon can even finish his sentence.

It's not all right, and Simon knows it. But he nods anyway and returns to the solitude of his room, the teenager's room that feels like a distant memory of a foreign land. He should have known he'd have none of it. Nothing he can say could undo what's been done.

But no matter how hopeless he knows it is, how much he tells himself that nothing he says or does can change the past or make things better, he still lies awake thinking about how things could have been different. He lies on his side and stares at the photo, meeting the gaze of the kind face smiling back at him through the glass, and in his mind he constructs a million different realities. In some his feral self goes somewhere else to hunt, tears apart another innocent civilian he has no connection with. In some his father just moves that bit quicker, smashing his growling head in before he can take the fatal bite. In some he never dies in the first place. He picks up the phone when his mother calls, he listens to her when she begs him to come home and let her help him. He lets her destroy his stash and help him through his fevered withdrawal, and he goes to the therapy sessions she always suggested to find a less destructive means of coping with the turmoil in his head. Okay, so that one's a little too far-fetched, but he still thinks about it, one of an infinite number of choices that could have led him anywhere else but here.

When the door flies open and the lights come on, Simon sits up blearily, wondering when exactly he'd managed to doze off. He sees the looming figure cramming various clothes into a bag at a furious pace, and he can't tell if the knot in his stomach is guilt or fear. "Dad?" he chokes out, but receives nothing but a glare in answer. "Dad, what's going on?"

The bag is thrown onto the bed, and his father picks up the photo, brandishing it in his son's wide-eyed face. "You don't deserve to  _look_  at her!" he spits.

He brings the frame down, and it shatters against the table. Simon feels what's left of his cold, dead heart go with it.

 

* * *

 

As he huddles alone against the wall, cold tarmac pressing against his unfeeling skin, he muses on how familiar this all is. This is the place he knows, this is where he belongs- where he always belonged even before he took that last lethal dose. Even as his father had thrown him out into the night, slamming the door behind him, the portion of Simon's medicated brain that wasn't wallowing in anger and self-pity contemplated the unshakable feeling of déjà vu. It wasn't the first time Iain Monroe had banished his son from the family home- of course the last time it happened the drugs in his system had been a lot  _less_  medicinal and a lot  _more_  illegal.

Still, it isn't quite the same. Now that everyone else hates him as much as he hates himself, now that he's in an almost immortal form immune to the sweet chemicals he used to use as his escape, he feels more trapped than ever before. And his confines are much harder to break with no easy way out in sight for his frustratingly resilient new body.

But something else is different. His head feels different now, whatever strange new substance he pumps into his body every day swirling around in his brain and changing something. Something is gone now, something that used to be ever-present and is now little more than an errant thought. By some cruel irony, it would seem that his rotten brain is now working at a higher capacity than his living one ever did. The fog is gone- that horrifying, impenetrable darkness that used to settle over his mind, telling him that nothing was worth anything, that he was nothing more than just one of the many ants swarming the land, clinging on for dear life until they were dragged back into the abyss, ashes to ashes.

Here he is, alive again, walking the Earth once more for better or for worse. Something brought him back, gave him the strength and the will to crawl through the layers and layers of dirt to find himself back in the land of the living. But how, and why?

Why would he be back here, crawling across the surface of the world he thought he'd left behind, if there was no reason, no meaning to anything?

Maybe, just maybe, someone or something is trying to prove him wrong.

And right now, with his entire life on his back and his entire future up in the air, he desperately hopes it succeeds.

He slips the last of his money into the slot, keys in the numbers he hoped he'd never have to call, and presses the receiver to his ear. When he hears a click on the other end, the words pour out of him in a dry gasp.

"It's Simon," he rasps, scrunching the paper in his hand. "I'm ready to follow."

 

* * *

 

He gazes at them, the eleven of them around a long table, and they gaze with white eyes back at him like he's a thing of beauty. They approach him, one by one, no fear in their eyes, only acceptance.

_Wide, dark doe-eyes, shining in the sunlight._

A smile, a handshake, another, more and more from every direction. Warm, welcoming.

_A squeeze of the hand, a chaste peck on the lips, a smile just for him._

A hug. Julian pulls him tight against his body, and Simon gasps at the impact, his eyes widening as he feels his breath on his ear.

"God wiped all the tears from their eyes," Julian murmured soothingly, invitingly. "For when they are redeemed from the earth…"

_Arms around his waist, a body draped over his own, beautiful skin so pale and smooth over shoulders so perfect he expected wings to fan from his back and carry him away._

"They are like  _angels_ that are in Heaven…"

A deep, stale breath escapes his cold lungs, his eyes flutter closed. He takes in a new breath, a fresh breath full of promise, and allows a strange new warmth to seep through his skin from the body he clings to. A new start, a new home. A purpose, at long last.

_Because there's what I believe…_

 

* * *

 

"And then there's you…" he whispers.

The train is racing off into the night, and he is alone on the platform. Not for long, though.

He walks and walks, quickening his pace like it will help him outrun the images that flock to his mind like moths to a flame.

" _The First Risen must be sacrificed."_

_Eyes wide, voice heavy with suspicion. "What do you want, Simon?"_

" _Only then can the Second Rising occur."_

_A mischievous grin. "Dead men tell no tales?"_

" _It has to be done, Simon…"_

Has to be done.

He arrives at home, brushing past the sleeping forms of his camped-out followers like they were nothing. Right now, they might as well be.

Through the hall, through the door, into his room. The bed.

_Hands gripping the blankets, a breathless gasp. Lips brushing skin, jolts of electricity through deadened nerves. Kiss-wet lips whimpering his name, fingers digging into his shoulders, pale throat peppered with gentle nips and adoring kisses._

Something else is on the bed now, dark and brutal against the soft blankets. Brown leather, his fingers working the strings. It falls open. His face remains frozen, impassive.

The knives glint and gleam in the frail moonlight, and the shine doesn't hold a candle to the reflection of silver starlight on copper hair but it doesn't matter. This is what needs to be done. What he was born to do. There is no other way.

The knife slides from the pocket, and the serrated edge flashes as he raises it. It feels heavy in his hand, and even through his dead flesh he can feel the cold of the steel. And still his face remains blank, the mask in place, now and forever.

No change.

 

* * *

 

" _And I realise you have to feel alive_

_All your worries will escape through the door_

_And you'll wake up all alone on the floor_

_It's not too late_

_Just rely on me now."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! Simon is v. hard to write, hope I did okay :/
> 
> I know I should be focusing my energies on this but if I take a while to update it's because my mind is currently being consumed by a Still Alive AU I'm writing of these two (which is unbelievably angsty and pretty graphic so if I ever publish it I need to remember to add a buttload of trigger warnings), I'm trying to keep on top of both but you all must know by now about my unfortunate habit of biting off more than I can chew!
> 
> And I can't believe it's taken me this long to say it publicly (I reply to all your messages privately, but still), thank you so much for all the reviews! It really does mean a lot and it keeps me motivated more than anything, so thank you! I hope I can keep going without letting you down for as long as possible!
> 
> Until next time! x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, guys!
> 
> Wow, it has been ages! How long has it been- what, a month? *Nervous laughter* Wow, yeah, a month- yikes, sorry about that! Hey, look on the bright side, you still haven't been kept waiting nearly as long as my Sherlolly folks! I wouldn't blame them in the slightest if they just chose to forget that my fic ever existed xD
> 
> So, on with the story then! Not gonna lie, I don't think this is one of my strong chapters- I dunno, something bothers me about it. I'll try and do better next time (and hopefully not take as long, either). We're getting to the dramatic bit of the story so it'll pick up!
> 
> Well, enjoy!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _I am hollow_

_I am numb_

_I am staring down the barrel of this gun_

_I am always by myself_

_In a sea of self-infliction that I felt"_

-'Take Me Away', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

Kieren's leg jittered against the edge of the mattress, his clasped hands held up to his face. He waited, so restless with panic that he barely restrained himself from bounding to the window until he heard the thud of the front door closing. He watched Steve and Jem walk away, pausing to notify Dean on their way out (no doubt informing the RPS grunt of his current incarceration). As soon as they were out of his sight line he leaped towards the locked door, the sheet of paper fluttering in his hand. There was no time to waste- he might have wasted too much already.

He'd tried to leave last night, the sheaf of paper composing Amy's will still clenched in his hands. He'd barreled down the stairs and towards the door, too panicked to even _consider_ being sneaky. Dean could chase him all he wanted, he didn't care. He just needed to find Amy.

But in the end, he hadn't even made it as far as Dean's post. When he'd charged into the living room his father had moved to stand in the way of the door, demanding an explanation. Kieren's pleas and concerns for his best friend fell on deaf ears. Together, his parents had restrained him. He knew he could have overpowered them, but they'd shout out, they'd call for Dean, or maybe Jem- she wasn't exactly his biggest fan at the moment. He wandered if his bare face would make it easier for her to pull a gun on him, but he didn't want to find out.

He slid the paper under the door, silently praying that he wasn't too late. He didn't know what was going on with Amy, but it couldn't be good. What if it was something to do with the ULA, or the Blue Oblivion he'd found in her bungalow? What if…?

"Fuck," he hissed, picking up the wire from his desk and unspooling it. He couldn't think about it, about what could be happening to her. Whatever it was had shaken her to the core, and he may already be too late to stop it.

As he fed the wire through the keyhole, he tried his best to banish the panic and guilt from his head. Unfortunately, that left his mind open to be filled with something else, and that something happened to be anger. Anger at a certain terrorist organisation that may or may not be endangering his best friend's life. Anger at a certain disciple of said organisation for not being there when he needed him.

He had to grit his teeth and stop his hands shaking as he worked the wire through the lock. Simon. Simon fucking Monroe. He could have known about what was happening with Amy a lot earlier if he hadn't been so preoccupied sneaking around with that stupid sexy ( _no,_ don't think of him like that, you're pissed off, remember?) Irish bastard. Might have actually seen the signs earlier if he hadn't been so desperate to hide his own nervous ticks- God, he just _had_ to go over to his house and snog him, didn't he? Couldn't let well enough alone. And now that prat was off somewhere without leaving so much as a note.

_Well, fuck 'im, then._

He shoved all thoughts of Simon Monroe furiously aside- plenty of time for rage when he escaped his house arrest. There was no way he was coming home again once he broke out. He didn't know where he could go, but anything was better than waiting patiently to be shipped off to Norfolk.

He heard a satisfying  _thunk_ as he succeeded in pushing the key out of the lock and it tumbled down to the waiting flyer. Winding up the wire and tucking it into his pocket, he carefully tugged the sheet- key and all- back under the door. Obviously all those hours spent helping Jem with puzzles on her Nintendo DS had paid off.  _Thank you, Kyle Hyde._

He grabbed the key and slid it into the hole, twisting it sharply and hearing the click of the lock. Still on his knees, the door swung open, and for a moment he felt relief wash over him. Maybe he still had a chance…

"You goin' somewhere, Dry Rot?"

 

* * *

 

Kieren couldn't decide who he wanted to punch in the face most- Gary or Simon. Yeah, the obvious choice was the man who'd pinned him down, tied his hands, and was currently on the rampage in his bedroom. But he wouldn't even be  _searching_  his bedroom if he wasn't convinced that Simon was planning some kind of attack, so really the Irish man had to shoulder his fair share of the blame.

Simon fucking Monroe. Up to more cloak-and-dagger behind his back, no doubt.  _Jesus._ Kieren was getting pretty fucking sick of his shit.

Another thing he was getting sick of was Gary shouting in his face, demanding knowledge Kieren didn't possess of the whereabouts of his kind-of, sort-of boyfriend.

What was more frustrating was knowing that even if he had the answers Gary was looking for, they would not be forthcoming.

Yes, he was really bloody pissed off at Simon round about now- clearly the bastard was up to even more mischief behind his back, and by rights Kieren should have felt justified in getting a little revenge. But he just didn't think he had it in in him to rat out Simon, even if he had the information to do so.

So he sat quietly simmering on the bed, arms bound tightly behind his back as Gary ransacked his room, and wondering exactly when he'd let Simon Monroe get under his skin. He managed to remain relatively quiet (a few snide remarks aside), letting Gary exhaust himself with his violent raid. That was until the thug yanked a certain charcoal drawing off the wall and viciously scrunched it, tossing the balled-up paper at Kieren's head. The crumpled sketch of Simon at his side was enough to really set him off.

"What is  _wrong_ with you?" he exclaimed, eyeing Gary and his trail of destruction with contempt. If he wasn't planning on skipping town anyway he'd be livid at the amount of tidying up his room would need after this. Still, he had been hoping to take that sketch along with several others with him, he didn't appreciate having it chucked at his head. "If Jem could see you now, my God- you're a mess! Coming apart at the seams…"

Gary didn't answer, dropping to his knees by the chest of drawers at Kieren's bedside. Kieren glanced down again at the crumpled drawing he'd been so protective of, and sighed exasperatedly at himself. He couldn't be worrying about Simon at a time like this, there were much more serious problems to face. Besides, by running away without a warning the stupid man had pretty much thrown him under the bus with people like Gary, so why should he care?

But he knew perfectly well why.

He couldn't let him go until he knew how much of it was a lie.

He quietly cursed himself as he thought hopelessly over their last night together, those words Simon had tried to say and their implications. Maybe his parents were right- maybe he  _was_  just some naïve kid who allowed himself to be strung along by any handsome man who gave him pretty words.

But try as he might to banish his thoughts and feelings for Simon Monroe from his head, even his deep-set cynicism couldn't shake the feeling that everything Simon had said (or nearly said) had been genuine.

 _This would be_ so _much easier if he was just a pure and simple dickhead._

But no, as it was all he could do was quietly rage, gloomily resigned to the fact that Gary was most likely going to try to beat the information out of him. He wouldn't give it to him even if he had it. At least he couldn't feel pain anymore- but eternal broken limbs didn't sound fun, either. If he wound up with shattered legs from this Simon could bloody well push his wheelchair for the rest of his unlife- he owed him that much.

Gary had gone quiet. Kieren turned his head to look at him, forcing his mind away from Simon for a minute. He would have stopped breathing if he'd been doing it in the first place.

Gary was holding the bottle. The tiny glass vial containing the Blue Oblivion he'd taken from Simon's room. The blue glass was instantly recognisable, even to Gary. He turned to Kieren with a look of angry triumph on his face.

"Blue Oblivion," He said quietly, realisation dawning. "It's you. It's been you all along!"

"Those aren't mine," Kieren said, but Gary had made up his mind already and he didn't expect to change it. Besides, he couldn't exactly say they were Simon's- he was trying (idiotically) to protect the bastard, after all. Fucking Hell, Simon owed him _big_ for this.

"Hiding in plain sight! Where were yeh planning on taking 'em, eh?" Gary said, brandishing the bottle in Kieren's face. "Legion? Village Hall?"

Kieren rolled his eyes, fidgeting with the cable tie around his wrists. He didn't have time for this shit- Amy was still out there, he might already be too late-

"Fete?" Gary insisted, bending over to look Kieren in the eye. "Gonna go rabid in front of a bunch o' kiddies, are yeh?  _Sick bastard!_ "

Kieren involuntarily cringed at the onslaught- he'd had plenty of people like Gary shouting in his face over his life, and not just for being undead. A sea of jeering faces swam in his vision. For the first time all morning he temporarily forgot to be angry with Simon- frankly, he just wished he was here. He didn't need protecting, but he was running out of people to fight his corner. Gary was rolling the bottle between his fingers tauntingly, trying his best to drag a confession out of him, and Kieren steeled himself and met his frantic gaze.

"I'm already on my way back to the treatment centre," Kieren snapped, leaving out the fact that he had absolutely no intention of allowing them to take him. "You've nothing to threaten me with,  _Gary._ "

"Treatment centre?" Gary sneered, slipping the incriminating bottle into his pocket. "Deadhead 'oliday camp, more like. Nah, Not getting' off that easy, rotter!"

He grabbed Kieren by the front of his hoodie, yanking him upright. Kieren struggled against him, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself being propelled to the door with his hands tied. He felt panic rise in his throat, but he tried to keep his expression spiteful- he wouldn't give fucking _Gary Kendal_ the satisfaction of seeing him break down.

"Yer wanna go rabid?" Gary asked mockingly, shoving Kieren roughly like he was nothing more than a rag doll. It was probably as much revenge for the night in the pub as it was to get him moving. Whatever, no amount of pushing around would make Kieren regret sending him hurtling across the table. "All right- let's go rabid!"

As he was dragged roughly towards the stairs, Kieren caught one last glimpse of his bed. The will, lying open and scattered across the blankets. Simon's picture, balled up and torn at the edges. He really didn't have it in him to be angry at him anymore.

But if he could just fucking _show up_ to help already, that'd be _brilliant._

* * *

 

Kieren struggled all the way to the jeep, for once wishing Dean was there- even he wouldn't let Gary get away with this, would he? But his hands were tied and his slight frame was stiff, and there was nothing he could do to keep Gary from forcing him roughly into the backseat and slamming the door behind him. He tried to kick it back open, but the lock was stuck fast.

He fought back the fear rising in his throat as he realised he was once again stuck on his back in a confined space, face in the shadows and hands immobile. Instead of letting the fear drag him down he kicked at the door, struggled with the cuffs, anything to feel like he wasn't lying down passively while Gary manhandled him. He had no idea where he was being taken, but it couldn't be good. His stomach lurched as the engine started, and his body was jerked about in the violent trembling of the car on roads in need of re-surfacing.

With his head on the seat and no view of the window, he didn't see a tall, pale figure emerge from behind a wall at the end of the street.

He didn't see Simon Monroe hesitate, eyes on the rapidly retreating jeep and hand hovering at his pocket indecisively.

And he definitely didn't see the Irish man curse under his breath and drop his hands to his sides, taking off at a run in pursuit of the car and its unwilling passenger.

 

* * *

 

He cried out as Gary pinned him to the ground, not from pain but from rage and fear, bursting from his lungs as he grappled for freedom. He twisted and writhed, kicked and yelled, but nothing he did could break the iron grip on his shoulders.

When he felt the powder trickling into the hole at his neck, he knew it was too late. The area around the gap was more sensitive than most of his body, and he knew from the intensity of the sensation that there was enough of the stuff in his system now. _More_ than enough.

When Gary finally released his shoulders and broke the zip tie, he took off at a run. There was no time to waste- he had mere minutes, at most. He'd seen the stuff take effect after being swallowed, working almost instantly. How fast would it be pumped directly into his spinal column? He didn't want to find out.

He needed to do two things now. He needed to get away from Gary- he knew perfectly well that he'd shoot him in the head without a second thought the moment the bile started flowing.

And then he needed to stop himself.

The edges of his vision were fading, blurring and blackening. He shook his head with a gasp, desperately attempting to disperse the cold fog settling in his head. Soon he wouldn't be able to see for it.

He didn't know whether he was running or shuffling- his dead limbs were too stiff to be swift at the best of times. Now, with his head throbbing and his vision wavering, it was a wonder he could even stay upright.

He ran until he was out of breath (which was really saying something for someone with no need for breathing), and then he ran some more. He tripped on stones, he swatted scratching branches from his eyes. He didn't know when he left the field and broke through the treeline, but he was there now and he still couldn't stop.

He hit a wall and clambered across it, finally getting his bearings in the unfamiliar landscape. He saw what he needed and ran- no time, no time, notimenotimenotime…

He fumbled in his pocket, found the wire. He pricked his finger on the end in his haste, but there was no time to worry about that now.

The bars. The solid iron bars covering Vicar Oddie's grave. If anything had a chance of being strong enough…

He dropped down beside them, clumsy fingers scrabbling to tie a knot in the stiff wire. It was probably cutting into his skin- he couldn't care less. The numbness was starting to creep into his fingertips, anyway. His body was already dead to many things but this was something else…

He tugged. It held. He hoped it would do the same when he tore at it with rabid strength.

It was back- the cold mist, burning his mind wherever it touched. Black spots danced in his vision, eating away like a cancer. No time…

He tried to wrap the wire round his leg. It was taking too long. He still had to tie the knot and-

The fog descended, and pain wracked his body from head to unfeeling toe. His back arched, his head fell back. Something thick and viscous clogged his throat, flooded his lungs and had him choking for air he didn't need. It exploded outwards, spluttering from his cold lips and coating his chin, his neck, sticking everywhere it could.

For one agonising, eternal second, there was just pain and cold, cloying fear as he clung desperately to the last glimmer of daylight in his eyes.

Then that second ended, and there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

" _I am tortured by myself_

_I am haunted by the fear of someone else_

_I am fading, I'm a ghost_

_Disconnected from the things I love the most"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya have it!
> 
> (By the way Kyle Hyde is a reference to the 2007 puzzle game 'Hotel Dusk: Room 215' for Nintendo DS. It's a mystery/puzzle solving game, like a noir film you can play, kind of. I kinda figured Jem was too badass to say she liked Professor Layton xD Not to mention that wasn't released til like 2008 and that's cutting it a bit close to Kier's death, I think.)
> 
> I really hope this wasn't a disappointment after such a long wait- but I'm gonna try and be better and quicker with the next one!
> 
> Oh, and one of the reasons I've taken so long on this is because I've kind of been in the zone with that angsty Still Alive AU I was gonna write- in fact, I've uploaded five chapters in the last month! If you care to check it out it's called It's Only Life, and it's probably one of the darkest things I've ever written- or at least the first chapter is! So, if you decide to try it out any feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Well, I guess I'll see ya soon! (and it WILL be sooner, this time!)
> 
> Until next time! :D x


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so bad about leaving it so long last time I worked hard to bring you a quick update this time! Yaaay!
> 
> It's getting dramatic now! And remember when I said this fic was either gonna stay canon or go AU? Well, that turning point is next chapter, and I have not decided yet xD what happens happens, I guess! Will try not to leave you hanging too long- and I hope I don't disappoint you with whatever I do! If it turns out that I stick to canon and this whole fic basically ends up being a detailed series 2 write-up I apologise, and promise there will be more original stuff in the sequel xD
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _There's a ghost upon the moor tonight_

_Now it's in our house_

_When you walked into the room just then_

_It's like the sun came out."_

-'The Start of Time', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

"For He so loved the world that he gave His one and only son…" Simon murmured, the familiar verse gliding as smoothly from his tongue as the knife into his pocket.

The sun had risen, the birds had sung, and Simon had not slept a second all night. Instead he had lain face-up, staring blankly at the ceiling as a thousand thoughts vied for attention. He had done his best to banish each from his mind as soon as it made itself known. He had one job now, and it was really very simple when he cut out the extra variables.

The First Risen must be destroyed.

Best not to think about the First Risen himself. Just think about the knife and where it needed to go.

He stood up, watching himself carefully in the mirror. The suit that had been to the grave and back covered his scarred flesh and obscured the blade from view- in many ways, a perfect disguise. All he needed now was the mask to match- which meant no doubts, no second guesses. When the blade bit deep his face could not show a split second of remorse. Everything relied on his job today. Everything he'd worked for.

The hall was empty, but he could hear the voices from the living room. Everyone had gathered, everyone was ready. Today was the single most important day of their second lives, after all.

But he paused on his way, knocking gently on Amy's door. "Amy, can I talk to you?" he called. No answer. "Amy?"

He pushed the door open, it yielded with no resistance. The room was empty, the bed perfectly made and the curtains wide open. No one had been there all night. He frowned, pulling the door shut behind him. Maybe she'd gone to see Kieren.

_Kieren._

He closed his eyes and shook his head, hand resting over the knife again. No, not Kieren. The First Risen. That's all he was, his only purpose.

As he went into the living room (the name more ironic than ever before with the half a dozen zombies gathered in its centre) and spoke to his followers with words put into his mouth by the Prophet, he wondered why he'd even gone to look for Amy. He didn't want her there, not when he had to… No, she wasn't going to find out about this. Not now, at least. Maybe once the job was done. When he'd done what he had to do, he'd probably appreciate a punch in the mouth (or worse). He'd deserve it.

As he sent the others on their way and started walking the lonely road to the Walker house, he considered the far more likely possibility that he'd wanted to see Amy so she might find out what he was planning and talk him out of it. If anyone was going to change his mind, it was Amy Dyer. Woman could draw blood from a stone.

No. It was good she wasn't there. He couldn't have distractions, or objections. What had to be done had to be done, no way around it other than to just grit his teeth and get through.

It was for the greater good.

Kieren would understand.

…Wouldn't he?

Nope, that was doubt again. No time for that.

The walk to the house took less time than he was expecting. Before he knew it he was across the road, considering how he was going to do this. The Prophet would probably tell him to bring Kieren to the graveyard with the others, let them bear witness to the sacrifice that would bring about their salvation. But when he considered tricking Kieren, misleading him or dragging him away by force his stomach turned. If he had to die, the least he could do was let him do it with dignity, without fear.

But he wondered if he could really do it any other way. Could he knock on Kieren's door right now, greet him with kind words and soft touches like that last morning, stroke his hair and kiss his neck and plunge the knife into the base of his skull as he was gasping? He could see it now, black blood trickling down his back, kiss-wet lips parted in horror and confusion, those eyes searching his for answers even as the light faded from them. The last thing he'd feel was betrayal, the last thing he'd see was Simon's face as he plead for forgiveness.

He closed his eyes. He had to lean against the wall a moment, his fingers twitching and tapping the stone in rapid staccato bursts.  _Too vivid. Tone it down._

No matter what he did- whether Kieren met his end in the open air or the quiet of his bedroom- the outcome would always be the same. He would die with pain and betrayal in his eyes, and Simon would be left whispering raw confessions to his twice-dead corpse. Though he knew of the beautiful spectacle outside at the start of the Second Rising, he knew he would not look away from Kieren's face for a second.

He would never be able to look Amy in the eye again.

He'd never be able to look at  _himself_ again- he remembered Kieren telling him about the towels he hung over the mirror to avoid meeting his own gaze. Simon would no doubt carry on the tradition.

But it had to be done.

When he got to the corner he saw the jeep. He knew that thing a mile off. Remembered Kieren telling him about the night he'd seen Freddie tossed into the back like a sack of potatoes, trussed up and stomped down. He could see the ropes and chains in there now. Gary.

He was just processing the information when the door to the house swung open, and Kieren emerged.

His heart involuntarily lifted as he saw his strawberry-blonde head come into view, but the feeling was short-lived. Firstly came the abrupt mental reminder of what he had to do, what this whole fucking mission had been building up to.

Then came Gary, pushing Kieren roughly out onto the driveway. It was only as Kieren stumbled unsteadily on the tarmac and nearly fell over that Simon realised his hands were bound.

His black blood boiled in his veins- partly from rage at Gary for doing it, partly from shame at the knowledge that he'd been considering doing something similar. Even from across the street he could hear Kieren's grunts and hisses as he fought desperately back against Gary's iron grip. He fought all the way to the jeep, and didn't stop for a second as the brute manhandled him into the backseat and slammed the door behind him.

As he heard the engine rev and saw the jeep pull away from the curb, his mind raced.

Perhaps this was a chance to get out. Be free of his mission. Chances were whatever Gary had planned, without help Kieren would be dead within the hour- Gary was not known for being merciful to 'rotters'.

But there was no guarantee. And if he missed his deadline the Rising wouldn't happen.

No. It had to be him. There was no other way.

At least if he did it, he could make it quick…

"Fuck…" he muttered, hand hovering at the knife in his pocket. It had to be done.

So he ran.

 

* * *

 

_He's hungry. So hungry…_

_There's blood here. He can smell it. He can hear heartbeats- beating so fast, racing from fear. They call to him. He pictures plunging his nails in, feeling the blood spurt from between his fingers, coating his hands and arms like war paint. He can already see it. Smell it._ Taste  _it…_

_He's so hungry…_

" _Kieren?"_

_He knows the sound. It's quiet, it's fragile, it barely seeps through the red haze of hunger, but it's there and he knows it. So familiar…_

" _Why, son?"_

_He turns his head to the noise- it calls him, attracts his attention, he needs to see the source. A shape comes slowly into focus. Pale. Wrinkled. Old. Scared. Coming closer, so slowly…_

" _Can you 'ear me, son?"_

_There's another voice, higher and more urgent, but he ignores it. His attention is fixed on the one that tries to speak to him. Tries to…_

_He shakes his head, tries to shake away the buzzing and the pain, shake away the bloodlust so he can just_ think  _for a second…_

… _Think?_

 

* * *

 

Simon couldn't take his eyes off him. Kieren Walker, rabid as the day he rose. There was something beautiful about it- something primal, brutal. He saw the bloodlust in his eyes and it was more powerful than he'd ever expected. God, the First risen could not have been _anyone_ else.

But no matter how many sermons, how many verses and teachings he went over in his head, he couldn't make the scene before him make sense. He looked at Kieren, staggering on animalistic impulse to the sound and smell of pumping blood, and thought that he should be the most beautiful creature in existence. That's what he was told- that in their natural state, unshackled by the living and the drugs they poisoned them with, they were beautiful.

It wasn't beautiful. Well, maybe it was, but it was nothing compared to what Simon had seen before. He'd seen those pale eyes alight with intelligence and understanding and passion. He'd seen those slack, black-stained lips curved into frowns and smiles and cocky, irresistible little smirks. This was _nothing_ \- this was just a puppet on a string.

It was better this way. Easier. When he plunged the knife into his skull it wouldn't be Kieren. It would be a creature, wearing Kieren's skin like a disguise, a flimsy mask barely covering the beast within. It would be less like sacrificing the innocent maiden, and more like slaying the dragon.

Kieren wasn't in there. There was nothing of his Kieren left.

Steve was trying to reach him. Trying to talk him down. It was pointless- Blue Oblivion was as brutal as it was unshakable. Simon saw from a distance as Gary emptied the entire contents of the bottle into Kieren's neck- there was no coming back from that kind of dose. His Kieren was dead, all that was left was the monster in his skin. But he respected Steve's hope, his solidarity- he wondered if his mother would have survived if it had been a trait his own father possessed. Wondered if maybe he  _did_ possess it, and that was why she was gone. Perhaps he should have just killed him when he'd had the chance.

His eyes flickered to the clock. He saw Steve advancing, saw his rabid son shuffle ever closer. His grip tightened on the knife.

Maybe at least one innocent life could be spared today.

 

* * *

 

" _I've got to believe yeh can 'ear me, Kier…"_

_He shakes his head, he closes his eyes, he slumps forward as a tiny voice in his head screams that he can hear him. That he's still here. That he isn't gone just yet._

_God, he's so hungry…_

" _I know we 'aven't seen eye to eye, lately," the voice insists, and Kieren wants so desperately to just let it in. "But that doesn't mean I don't love yer, no matter what yeh are…"_

_His eyes prickle. He thinks he wants to cry…_

_The smell is so close now. Blood and heat and fear. He can hear the heartbeat, pulsing so close he could just reach out and snatch it straight from the chest. The phantom memory of the taste lingers on his tongue- it tasted like warmth, like life. Life he doesn't have anymore. But he could have it again, just for a moment…_

" _I won't let 'em take yeh away," the voice is so quiet now, so scared and yet so hopeful._

_Kieren's hands grip something. He anchors himself in it, raises his eyes to look into the face above the beating heart that calls to him with every thump. His whole body shakes with the effort of not diving forward, sinking his teeth in, cracking open the ribs and skull and feasting for the first time in so long…_

" _You're me son."_

_Something inside him wakes up. Looks out at the grey sky and the greyer hair of the man he clings to, kicks out, claws and fights its way to the surface. The little voice that screams 'I'm not gone'._

_He fixes his gaze on that endless grey, uses it as a guiding light through the red haze._

_Kicks, drags, claws, tears. He's not down._

_Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Simon couldn't believe what he was seeing. Couldn't blink, couldn't look away from the spectacle for even a second because what he witnessed was nothing short of a miracle.

Kieren's hands were on his father's chest, clutching his jacket, and he was so close now that he could just lunge forward and tear the flesh from his bones in a single bite.

But he didn't lunge. Didn't attack or even threaten Steve in any way.

His body shook. His eyes flickered open and closed. A soft whimper escaped his lips.

He was fighting it.

Simon couldn't help but stare. He couldn't help but feel awed as he saw what must be a turning point in history. Even Kieren's baser instincts- the primal kill or be killed, hunt to survive genetics within him- even they couldn't break him. Couldn't shake the iron grip on his morals. The boy had more humanity inside him than anyone Simon had ever known, and it was fighting back with every ounce of strength in his body.

" _I've found the First Risen."_

Kieren met his father's gaze, and there was clarity shining through his pearlescent eyes.

" _You should see him…"_

_BONG!_

His hand squeezed the knife.

" _He's beautiful."_

_BONG!_

The time was now. The clock was chiming. There was no time left to debate.

With an ache in his chest, he took the first step forward.

_BONG!_

But something wrapped around his neck, yanking him back, holding him still.

"Got yer," a voice muttered from behind him, a blade pressing into his neck.

_BONG!_

He was pinned, his head immobile.

_Hands tied, face down, sobbing into the dark as he feels his body being lacerated, inspected like meat on a slab. He wants to curl up into a ball, hide away._

_BONG!_

He saw Kieren. Eyes clearing, mouth desperately trying to form words.

This was his last chance.

_BONG!_

A click. A gun being loaded.

Cold fear ran up his open spine.

_BONG!_

It was as instinctual as breathing when he broke from Gary's hold.

He didn't even pay attention to the smack of his body hitting the ground.

_BONG!_

He looked to Kieren. Looked to Pearl. The knife was in his hand.

_BONG!_

_No curling up. No hiding away._

_BONG!_

He ran.

 

* * *

 

The clock chimes, the blackbirds crow.

A gunshot rings through Roarton Valley.

 

* * *

 

" _And the day is clear_

_My voice is just a whisper_

_Louder than the screams you hear_

_It's like the sun came out…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is.
> 
> Feedback is, as always, much appreciated, and I'll see you all next time- stay awesome, guys! X


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super shit at updating this fic, huh?
> 
> I'm sorry! I'm so pre-occupied with my other fic, I'm terrible.
> 
> So yeah, here it is. Enjoy, I guess!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

" _Dreams are like angels_

_They keep bad at bay_

_Love is the light_

_Scaring darkness away."_

-'The Power of Love', Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

_Ugh…_

… _Fuckin' Hell…_

_Where am I?..._

_I'm never drinking again…_

… _I haven't drank for four years._

_Is that right?_

_Yeah, four years._

_I'm not human anymore…_

_I'm…?_

His eyes blinked slowly open, squinting in the light of day as it burned his oversensitive retinas.

_Alright, focus: I'm…_

A dark shape over his vision slowly came into focus.

_I'm dead. No, I'm…_

A soft  _thud_  as something metal fell to the earth.

_I'm a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer._

The shape shifted slightly, the sound of skin and fabric scraping dirt hit his ears.

_I'm Kieren Walker._

The shape moved, the weight pinning him down shifting. Two white eyes stared down at him.

"Kieren?"

Simon. It was Simon. Kieren blinked, rolling his head slightly. They seemed to be lying in mud. Fuck, how did that happen?

_Oh, that's right…_

He felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack as it all flooded back to him- Gary, the Blue Oblivion, his father, the gunshot. A million questions vied for attention, rattling round his aching head.  _Am I going to be okay? Where's that fucker Kendal? Did anyone else see him do it? They know I didn't do it myself, right? It wasn't my fault! Where the fuck have_ you _been? What the Hell just happened?_

"Did…" he rasped, feeling his lips stick together slightly. Bile. Ugh. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"No," Simon said, his hands rising to Kieren's face, his hair, pressing and touching all over as if he couldn't quite trust his eyes alone. He laughed breathlessly, disbelievingly. "No, you didn't. You beat it!"

Kieren wanted to laugh, too, join in the giddy relief of the moment, but frankly he felt like his brain had been through a cheese grater. As Simon's hands moved from his chest to his arms, pulling him upright, the change in altitude almost had him falling right back over. Fortunately another pair of hands held him up, handing him off to Simon once he'd found his footing. He glanced up at his dad as he was pulled away, noticed the shock on his face.

 _Wait, what happened? That_ was  _a gunshot, right?_

He heard Zoe shout something, heard Simon reply curtly, but he couldn't focus on the words. His scrambled brain was desperately trying to put together the events of the past few minutes, and failing miserably. They walked a few minutes before he finally found his voice again.

"Simon?"

"Yeah?" Simon supported him as gently as possible as they walked. Where they were walking to, Kieren had no idea.

"What happened to the bullet?" he asked softly, almost stumbling over the uneven ground. "That  _was_  a gun I heard, yeah?"

Simon nodded, tightening his grip on Kieren's shoulders. "Yeah, it was," he said, looking straight ahead. "Don't worry 'bout the bullet- tweezers'll get that out."

"What d'you-?" Kieren began, eyes widening as realisation dawned. He stopped suddenly, yanking Simon around by his arm (and it's a good thing he took him by surprise, he'd have been too weak to do it otherwise). He stared at the ragged hole in the Irish man's suit in astonishment, saw the deeper gauge in the flesh beneath. "Fuckin' Hell, Simon-!"

"It's fine," Simon said quickly, taking hold of Kieren's arm and pulling him along again. "It's nothing. Come on, we need to get you to the surgery, need to make sure you're…"

He trailed off as Kieren tugged him round again, reaching his arms around his torso and pulling him close, pressing his face to his shoulder. After a moment he felt Simon's hands on his back, cautiously returning the embrace.

This was far from over. It was absolutely fucking idiotic of the man to dive in front of that bullet, and he still wasn't off the hook for disappearing.

But Kieren tightened his grip on him anyway, hands pressing lightly against Simon's spine and the scar that ran its length.

He may be an bloody _idiot_ , but he was glad to have him back.

 

* * *

 

They found themselves sitting alone in the waiting room of the GP's surgery, awaiting Doctor Russo. Typical Roarton service- one of them literally had a _bullet_ in their shoulder and still they faced an endless wait in an empty room. Jesus, this place was a ghost town.

Kieren kept flexing his fingers, arching his back, stretching his neck. He felt so  _stiff-_ even more so than usual. It felt like his joints had all swelled up. He was an absolute mess- he'd done his best to wipe the gunk from his face but stubborn traces still clung to his lips, sticky like tar.

With his face looking as rough as his stiff body felt, he'd appreciate it if Simon would stop staring at him.

"What?" he asked, turning his head to Simon and noticing that his gaze didn't even falter.

"I've never seen anyone fight against Blue Oblivion before," Simon answered quietly, eyes never leaving Kieren's face.

"Well," Kieren huffed, turning his gaze down to his hands and shrugging. "Live long enough and you'll see all sorts."

"You're incredible, Kieren."

Okay, Kieren would be lying if he said that statement didn't make his dead heart flutter a little. But he furrowed his brow and looked at Simon disapprovingly, shaking his head. "No, I'm not," he said firmly, shutting down any attempts at sweet-talking before they could start. He was still angry, he had to remember that. "I'm just a person who didn't want to do any more harm. Don't start getting all mystical on me, okay? I'm not the messiah. I don't have any special powers."

He looked back at Simon and raised his eyebrow. "Unlike  _some_ people."

A small, surprised smile appeared on Simon's face, like he didn't know what he meant but was choosing to take it as a compliment. "…I don't have any special powers."

"You've got the power to disappear."

Simon's face fell. Good.

"You left. I searched everywhere for you," Kieren said, searching Simon's face for answers. "Where'd you go?"

_Please, please, PLEASE, just be honest this once…_

"The city," Simon mumbled. It was vague, and useless, but it was the truth- he could see it in his eyes.

"Why?"

Simon met his gaze, opened his mouth. For a moment, it looked like he was going to tell him. He could scarcely believe it- maybe this really _was_ a new chapter for them both. Maybe the mysterious Mr. Disciple was finally letting the mask fall…

The door slammed against the wall, loud as a gunshot to his surprised ears. They both turned to the sound. Kieren's black blood ran cold.

Philip was staggering through the door, face a blood-spattered mask of anguish as he cried out for help. In his arms was a body, limp and bloodied, beautiful skirts stained red.

"Amy!" Kieren gasped, and he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. Amy was dead- no, dying. Amy was covered in blood. Amy was covered in  _her own blood_ , seeping out from the wound in her chest. Real blood. Warm and red, pulsing with life. He knew it was real- knew the smell. Not half an hour ago he'd been _craving_ it, stalking it. Now it brought bile to his throat.

"Amy!" He called again, racing forward to help Philip carry her, only dimly aware of Simon shouting for help behind him. "Amy!  _Fuck_ , Amy, wake up!"

Blood covered his fingers as he helped carry her, and though he couldn't feel it he knew it was warm to the touch. It dripped onto the pale floor as they staggered along, an almost radioactive trail of red marking their path. God, so much…

"What the-?"

Doctor Russo's eyes widened as Philip shoved past him, placing Amy's limp body across the examination table as the angry wounds kept weeping. Russo snapped into action, striding over to her side as he surveyed the damage and Philip breathlessly recounted the story.

But Kieren couldn't hear a word he said. He didn't have time to marvel with Russo at the sight of her blood, warm and pumping, as it seeped through her clothes. All he could do was sit at her side, taking her hand and holding it tight as the blood on her fingers stained his skin.

"Please, Amy," he breathed, trying to keep his voice firm and failing. "You're not allowed to leave like this…"

Her eyes didn't even flicker. The phantom feeling of slick black bile clogged his throat, he could barely speak past it.

"You're my best dead friend forever," he choked. "That's non-negotiable…"

She couldn't die. She just couldn't, it wasn't possible, not like this- what good was a stab to an unbeating heart?

He heard Russo mumble something about her eyes, but all he could see was her blood-soaked hand as he held it close. It wasn't her time yet, it couldn't be.

_We have so much to talk about. You still have to shout at me and Simon, we all have to go on that day-trip together, you still have to talk Jem round- come on, you always talk 'em round in the end! You'll never be BFF's if you don't keep trying to wear her down, you can't give up now…_

Russo backed away. That grabbed his attention. He looked up imploringly, and felt the icy stab in his heart when he saw the Doctor's face.

"What're you doin'?" Simon demanded, still hanging back. Kieren couldn't tear his gaze away to look at him for even a second.

"There's nothing I can do…" Russo said quietly.

Kieren's lifeless heart turned to stone, plummeting in his chest.

The rest of the room faded away, nothing left but the body on the table.

 _Amy Dyer,_ he thought, tongue too numb to form the words.  _My beautiful genius…_

Behind him Philip sobbed, the sound gut-wrenching in its anguish. Simon was silent, and Kieren could only imagine what his face must look like in that moment. He didn't think he could look at either of them- he thinks it would break him further. So he closed his eyes, and with trembling fingers he raised her hand to his lips, closing his senses to the violent red against her slender hands.

The image of a small smile, a mask of happiness over a troubled face, burned in the forefront of his mind. False brown eyes peering from beneath a red flower, bright and relentlessly cheerful against the grey Roarton sky.

" _Not a day trip this time, Partner."_

As his dry eyes burned with the need for tears, eyelids frozen shut against the violent blood splatters across that same beautiful face, he poured every last word he never said into that grip.

As people started to move, as voices vied for attention, he sat still as a statue and held his best friend's hand, knowing it was the last time he would ever do so.

Even through his dead nerves he could feel the warmth and light she wore every day like jewels and flowers seep away, and winter settled over the world like a blanket; cold, unforgiving, and deafeningly silent.

How would the sun ever rise in Roarton without Amy Dyer?

 

* * *

 

_It's my fault._

Simon tried to be there for Kieren, God knows he tried.

But even as he took Kieren by the arm, held him against his side, stroked his hair as he slowly walked the numb boy back to his house, a traitorous part of his mind kept turning that one sentence over and over.

They thought about going to the bungalow- Kieren didn't really want to talk to his family at the moment- but going to the place where Amy should be would be even worse, surrounded by her presence, walking past her room with her still unmade bed and her clothes on the floor. She'd never do one of her spring cleans again.

So they went to the Walker house. They were greeted there by the whole family, but Kieren didn't spare them a glance. He just walked, eyes blank and body stiff as he traipsed up the stairs. Simon could do nothing but follow, jaw set and fists clenched, knowing that he would force his guilt down to the Earth's very core if it meant he could take care of the boy first.

He'd already let Amy down, he wouldn't let Kieren down, too.

 

* * *

 

Kieren felt Simon at his side, gently supporting him. But he couldn't for the life of him turn to meet his eyes.

He felt cold. He already knew he was cold, his dead body with black blood, but he'd never honestly  _felt_ so cold and empty before. Now he couldn't ignore it.

He sank slowly onto the edge of his bed, unmoving as Simon fussed around him. The Irish man was restless, obsessively tidying away loose clothes and drawings, straightening sheets, pacing endlessly.

It felt like he was trapped under ice, every freezing pang of doubt and sorrow in his body bubbling beneath the surface, kicking and screaming to be released.

It was only as Simon knelt before him, dabbing away at the dried blood on his hands with a damp cloth that a single spidery crack spread across his self-made barrier.

He sobbed, the sound so dry and hitching with no actual tears to back it up, no saliva in his throat or breath in his parched lungs. Another followed, and another.

A familiar strong hand came to rest gently on his neck, and the dam broke.

He slumped forward, curling into himself, around his hollow chest. His head hit Simon's shoulder, resting there as the dry sobs wracked his body. Another hand stroked his back, the first moved to cradle his cheek.

"I'm sorry…"

He heard the murmured words, but paid them no attention. What good would they do?

"I should've been there…"

This time the words came from his own lips, slipping out before he could catch them.

He felt Simon tense, knew that he wanted to deny it. But he stayed silent, thumb gently stroking the dry skin beneath Kieren's eye. Thank God- he didn't think he could've forgiven him if he'd tried to make excuses on his behalf. There _were_ no excuses.

So he just sat still, let Simon hold him as his shoulders shook, feeling his rotten heart slowly, agonisingly split in two.

 

* * *

 

" _I'll protect you from the hooded claw_

_Keep the vampires from your door_

_When the chips are down I'll be around_

_With my undying, death-defying love for you_

_Envy will hurt itself_

_Let yourself be beautiful_

_Sparkling like flowers and pearls and pretty girls…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. I'm so sorry.
> 
> This is the chapter where I thought for a long time about going AU. I love Amy so much, and for ages I thought about an unlikely plot twist that has her faking her death and running away. But it seemed pretty far-fetched, and honestly the whole point of this fic has been to explore the characters' inner feelings toward the events of the show and I'd be cutting out a massive, important piece of that if I let Amy live. I'm so sorry- but I refuse to believe Amy is gone for good. I guess that's for the eventual sequel (or series 3, with a bit of luck) to decide. And if you thought this chapter was short, it's because the next two chapters are very big, emotional & introspective chapters so that's where the detail's gonna be.
> 
> Until next time! X


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo..... Hi.
> 
> Two years, huh? Yeah, uh, guess I kinda dropped the ball on updates a little amirite?
> 
> ...Suppose an 'oops!' and a promise not to do it again ain't really gonna cut the mustard.
> 
> Still! On with the show!

_“I never meant to fall for you but I_

_Was buried underneath and_

_All that I could see was white_

_My salvation…”_

-‘Salvation’, Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

 

It was a funeral. Simon knew he should be crying, he should be sad, he should be wistfully exchanging stories of the deceased with others who’d known her. But instead he just felt…lost

He’d never had a chance to think about it before- about what he’d given up. Everything had been such a blur that day in the graveyard, and then he was too happy to see Kieren alive, and too devastated to see Amy dead to even consider the repercussions of his actions.

But now he was here, standing alone in the corner while everyone else mingled, and there was precious little else he _could_ think about.

He betrayed them. In the end, he turned his back on the one thing he’d believed in, the one thing he’d sworn his loyalty to. His entire second life dedicated to one cause, and in the one moment it mattered he’d said no. He could see the way the others looked at him now- like they expected any day to find him with a noose around his neck, completing his transformation into the ULA’s Judas and punishing himself for his transgression. Like it would be no less than he deserved. Sometimes he wondered…

A funeral was probably the most disrespectful place for self-centred introspection, but Simon couldn’t help it. This was the first time he’d been alone in days- not hovering at Kieren’s shoulder should he be needed, or helping the other Walkers with the funeral preparations. It was easy to push your own problems to the side when there were others to think about. But now Kieren was away somewhere, probably mingling like people are supposed to do at these things, and there was very little left to serve as a distraction. Nothing to quash the doubts gnawing away at his very sanity.

It was Amy. It had been Amy all along. It had been _so easy_ to let himself believe it was Kieren. That story he told at dinner had been all the indication he’d needed- why wouldn’t it be Kieren? Strong, beautiful, unique Kieren. Who could possibly be better suited to the title of First Risen? He still wasn’t entirely convinced he’d been misled. For all he knew, Maxine had got the wrong person…

But then Amy’s death really _had_ been for nothing.

He didn’t know what was worse; Amy dying for a cause that turned out to be false, or Amy dying when it should have been someone else. Both prospects just as horrible as each other.

It wasn’t a helpful thought to dwell on, but… he couldn’t help but wonder what he would have done. What if he’d got the tip about Amy? Would that have made it easier? Harder? Would he have done his job, or delegated it? Maybe he would have stopped it altogether. Taken the bullet- literally. But he just didn’t know. He’d never know. He’d live the rest of his long, undead life not knowing what he would have done if the tables were turned, and that… he didn’t even have words.

For a moment, he allowed himself to selfishly wish Kieren would drop whatever he was doing and come back to him. It was easier to think about better things with Kieren close- easier to forget what a royal fuck-up he’d made out of everything. Because Kieren was alive and safe, so he couldn’t have fucked up _too_ badly, right? Well, _alive_ , at least. _Safe_ … well, that remained to be seen.

If there was one thing Simon knew, it was the ULA. He’d lived it, breathed it, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was not over. As long as a traitor remained alive, as long as there was a possibility they hadn’t yet found what they were looking for, they would be back, and this time they’d be out for blood. His blood. And, more horrifyingly, Kieren’s.

His fingers were twitching. His breath was starting to come short. It took a concerted mental effort to calm himself down, still his mind and body. Nothing to be gained from panicking besides funny looks from the funeral-goers. He had this under control.

He looked down to the corner, to the bag he’d packed days ago. Ready and waiting.

The ULA wouldn’t find what they were looking for. He’d make damn sure of it.

 

* * *

 

Simon was practically ready to crawl out of his skin when Kieren found him some time later. With every instinct screaming at him to grab Kieren and get out of town before anyone came looking, he was hard-pressed to stand still. But he owed it to Kieren, the Walkers and Amy herself to at least stay for the rest of the wake- it may be their last chance to say goodbye.

He felt the tension in his body loosen as Kieren approached, but not even his shy smile could stop the warning bells ringing in Simon’s mind. He matched the smile as best he could, but felt it must have come out as more of a grimace.

“Alright?” he asked, voice low. Kieren smiled bravely, shoulders hunching slightly in his suit. He’d left out the cover-up and contacts again today, and good lord did he wear his real self well, but a part of Simon was starting to wonder if lying low wasn’t a good idea given the circumstances.

He darted a quick glance to his bag, still waiting for him in the corner, and took a deep, unnecessary breath. “After this is over,” he said quietly, glancing over Kieren’s shoulder to check that no one was listening in. “We should go.”

Kieren frowned, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Go where?”

“Away from here,” Simon said, shrugging slightly. Truth was he didn’t care where they went now, so long as he had Kieren by his side and a good head start on the Prophet’s disciples. Anything else was secondary. “It’s not safe.”

Kieren was already shaking his head. “I can’t leave.”

“Isn’t leaving what you wanted?” Simon asked, mildly exasperated. Trust Kieren to be contrary at the worst possible moments.

“It was,” Kieren said, eyes dropping. He frowned, and Simon could see the cogs turning in his head. “Amy asked me once, how many miles I’d have to walk before I was okay with myself. I thought I’d have to go around the whole world…”

He looked back up, and his frown melted away. Something took hold in his expression, something serene and unfamiliar. A quiet sense of… confidence.

It was the single most beautiful sight Simon had ever laid eyes on.

“But I don’t think that anymore,” Kieren continued, gentle smile still in place. “I’m okay here.”

Everything logical in Simon demanded he press his point. Roarton was no longer safe. The ULA would be out for their blood any moment, and he couldn’t even guess what the _living_ citizens had in store for them next.

But there was not a force on God’s green earth that could make him refuse Kieren anything he wanted in that moment.

“Okay,” he mouthed, smiling in turn.

The way Kieren’s face lit up in that moment made him feel he could fight an army with his bare hands.

And it was just as well it did, because he could see both Kieren’s parents advancing.

Sometimes he really missed alcohol. He could really go for a drop of liquid courage round about now.

“Simon,” Steve said, face neutral.

Simon only nodded. He wasn’t precisely sure how to respond. Where exactly _did_ he stand with the elder Walkers at this point in time? He hadn’t given it much thought. Fortunately, Steve saved him the trouble, holding out his hand.

“Wanted to thank you.”

Simon cocked his head. “Thank me?”

Steve didn’t smile, or laugh or even frown. He remained the picture of simple sincerity. “You saved Kier’s life.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Simon reached out and took his hand in a firm shake. Some unnameable emotion was fluttering in his chest, closing up his throat. “Reflex,” he rasped through the blockage, smiling shyly.

Steve withdrew his hand, Sue smiling from his side. “Got a place to stay, ‘ave you Simon?”

“I’m up at Amy’s bungalow at the moment,” Simon replied, although he suspected he may need to look for somewhere a little off the beaten track if he planned on sticking around.

Sue glanced away, and he saw where her eyes wandered immediately. “Not going away, I hope?” she asked, nodding towards his bag, ready and waiting for his imminent departure.

He could feel Kieren’s eyes on him. He glanced at him. He was smiling sweetly, swaying in place in a boyish manner. It was literally too cute for words. Clever bastard.

“No,” Simon replied, tearing his gaze away to smile at Sue. “No, I’m staying put.”

And to his surprise, he meant it.

 

* * *

 

Kieren disappeared again shortly after that. Probably to look for his sister- she’d been gone a while. Simon considered checking on her himself, but wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the intrusion. Kieren would take care of her. Those two always took care of each other. Jem, Sue, Steve, the infrastructure remained intact. Simon repeated their names in his head like a mantra, as if by naming the people he could trust with Kieren’s safety he could ward off evil spirits.

He still wasn’t totally sold on this idea. The ULA were out for vengeance, and though the local humans were contrite in the face of Amy’s murder he knew their next bright idea was only on the horizon. The safest thing for both of them would be to get as far away from this place as possible, lie low and change their names, wait for the rest of the world to catch up before re-introducing themselves into society.

But he would never force Kieren to go anywhere, do anything against his will. And as long as Kieren stayed put, Simon would stand guard over him.

When he thought about it like that, everything seemed so very simple. Where Kieren goes, he goes. The thought was strangely liberating. He didn’t feel powerless anymore, with his heart and mind set on that beautiful man’s safety. He felt calm. Purposeful.

All his life he’d been adrift, cast about endlessly in a vast sea of his own doubts and mistakes. The ULA had been a life raft, but Kieren… Kieren was his anchor. He was his compass, his rudder, the brightly shining North Star itself.

And Simon would follow him to the ends of the Earth and back without question.

God help him.

 

* * *

 

_“You are the snowstorm_

_I’m purified_

_The darkest fairy tale_

_In the dead of night.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was so short. And introspective. And basically actionless. Not gonna lie kiddos, you basically had the last of the action with chapter 9. Hey, at least I didn't leave you on a cliffhanger, right????
> 
> I'm sorry if these last chapters ain't too impressive. I lost passion for this story a little bit a long time ago, got some nasty messages, basically flat-out lost the will to write it. But I re-watched ITF lately, remembered how much I love love LOVE the show, and basically decided I owed it to everyone who ever read this to finish it, even if what I post now really has no way of living up to two years' worth of building expectations. I hope you like 'em anyway- and I promise that should I ever go ahead with that sequel I was planning, I will have it all written BEFORE I start posting. No more two-year hiatuses, pinkie promise!
> 
> Final two chapters to be uploaded in the next few days after proofreading, so until then, please don't hurt me! X


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, you've had a Simon POV chapter, now time for a Kieren.
> 
> Since I figured no one would wanna read blocks of copied and pasted dialogue, I basically decided to go for a general overview of the current situation from Kieren's POV instead of a blow-by-blow retelling. It's short and sweet, but I think it gets the point across.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_“_ ** _You’re a spark without a flame_

_I’m a desert in the rain_

_You’re a mountain and I’m a stepping stone_

_So walk away from your pride_

_It’s a demon in disguise_

_And it won’t help you to calm the swelling tide”_

-‘Human’, Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

 

_“I think I need help, Kier…”_

_“Alright,” his arms went around her protectively. If he’d held onto even a shred of anger, it was obliterated by his little sister’s broken sobs. “We’ll get you some help, yeah?”_

Kieren stared up at the ceiling blankly, the whole scene playing over and over behind his eyes. How long since the night Henry Lonsdale disappeared? A week? More? How long had Jem been keeping this huge, terrible secret to herself? And how had he not realised? Bloody hell, he _was_ a shit brother. He’d been too wrapped up in his own things to pay her a second thought. That very night, mere hours after the incident, he was too giddy after his talk with Simon at the rave to even notice something was off.

 _Never again,_ he promised himself. He’d abandoned Jem once too often. He couldn’t leave her alone like that again. She’d turned to fucking _Gary,_ for Christ’ sake! Who knew what he’d been saying to her, probably making things even fucking worse.

But she’d believed him in the end. Taken her brother’s side, though he wouldn’t have blamed her if she hadn’t. She wouldn’t be seeing Gary Kendal again. And if he came sniffing around, well, Kieren might just have to learn how to be an obnoxious, overbearing big brother after all. He could learn to throw his weight around if it meant sending that dickhead packing.

_“Do you know what happened to him, Jem?”_

_“It- it was an accident…” she choked, tears flooding her eyes. “It was dark, I was on patrol and I… I thought he was a rabid…”_

She’d killed him. In the heat of the moment, she’d killed Henry. He knew in his heart that she hadn’t meant to, but… it didn’t make the revelation hurt any less. When had she decided to start patrolling again? What had made her pick up the gun once more, when he thought she’d left that chapter of her life behind?

He should be furious with her. He didn’t know Henry Lonsdale, but he had been one of them. Just a kid who’d drawn the short straw, dragged kicking and screaming back into the world only to be torn violently out of it once more.

But Jem had been in this position once before. She’d stood there and watched as Kieren, rabid and crazed by hunger, had torn Lisa Lancaster to shreds. But she saved him anyway. Even forgiven him, in time.

How could he ever deny her the same courtesy?

And so he put the deed down to what it was: a desperate girl trying to find her purpose again. He couldn’t blame her- he knew all about feeling powerless. It didn’t mean he would turn a blind eye should she do it again.

Nor did it mean Gary was off the hook. One of these days that manipulative bastard was going to get what was coming to him.

He knew at least one person who’d definitely volunteer his services in that regard.

_“No,” Simon breathed, showing the first honest to goodness smile since the day Amy died. “I’m staying put.”_

His life didn’t hinge on Simon, no matter what his dad thought. He was perfectly capable of making his own decisions, and he liked to think that he would have had the courage to stay in Roarton even if Simon left. But he wasn’t leaving. And for that, Kieren was immeasurably grateful. He didn’t think he was ready for his time with Simon to be over.

Time was what they needed. Time, and hopefully a scrap of honesty. They had some things to talk through, for sure. He wanted the full story of why Simon had disappeared eventually, and he wouldn’t mind one or two other explanations while he was at it. Sooner or later, words would be exchanged. He’d had enough dishonesty in relationships to last several more lifetimes. He’d allow them a few days of peace and quiet, some time to grieve for Amy and get used to each other before he broached the next topic of conversation, whatever it may be. He knew what he _really_ wanted to talk about, though…

_Moisture glittered on the tips of his fingers. Tears. Strange. He hadn’t shed one of those in five years. He didn’t have long to muse on it before he noticed the trembling of his hand. He shook it out, exhaling as the tremors stilled. But even in their absence, a sense of unease still lingered._

He looked down at his hand. Steady as a rock now. It had probably been nothing. Nerves or stress or an abundance of other psychological triggers. He’d just recently turned rabid, been shot at _and_ lost his very best friend in the world, all in the space of a day. Of course he’d be a _little_ shaky.

He glanced at the nearest drawing, the half-finished piece on his bedside table. Amy. All his pictures had been of Amy recently. This one, unfortunately, had been blurred at the edges by the shaking of his hands. He’d fix it tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep.

He ran his eyes over the various versions of her likeness that grinned back from the wall. It was probably morbid, drawing her so much right after her second death. But every now and then he was struck with the knowledge that he would never see her face again. And in those moments, he had to draw her. Had to look at her. Sketch the curves of her face, commit her likeness to memory before he forgot what her smile looked like. It was only a matter of time.

A person like Amy Dyer did not deserve to be forgotten. Not now, not ever. So he would draw her face until it was etched into his frontal lobe, and he would think of her smile on rainy days. He’d hold her in his unbeating heart for as long as he had consciousness to do so.

And he wasn’t the only one.

His eyes roamed away from his collection of Amy’s, settling on the blanket-shrouded shape on the floor. He wasn’t sure what inspired him to invite Simon over for the night. Maybe it was seeing Simon’s bag all packed and knowing that he hadn’t left so much as a trace in the bungalow, or sympathy knowing he would be returning to such a blatantly Amy-less space. More likely it was his own desire not to be alone tonight, seeking excuses in the most unselfish ways possible.

He wasn’t the only one struggling to sleep. Simon looked up at him, milk-white eyes shining in the pale moonlight. He was frowning, his brows drawn. He looked like he was thinking awfully hard about something. Kieren was about to sarcastically tell him not to strain himself when Simon spoke over him.

“The treatment centre,” Simon rasped, bunching his fingers in the blanket.

Kieren frowned. “You what?”

“It’s where I got the scar,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. He was avoiding meeting Kieren’s eyes now. “On my back. You wanted to know, so…”

Kieren softened, rolling onto his side to better observe the Irish man. Simon, who had been lying with his back pressed firmly to the floor up until now, mirrored his shift in posture so they lay face to face, eye to eye. It barely scratched the surface of all they needed to say to each other, but… maybe for now, it was enough.

Without another word, Kieren scooted back on the bed, and patted the mattress at his side.

Simon didn’t need to be told twice.

His childhood bed was definitely too small for two grown men to be cuddling on, but they made do. Simon’s arms went around his waist, a leg in between his own. Kieren pressed his head to his chest, ear pressed to Simon’s silent heart. His eyes drifted closed and his hand skated across his skin, dancing over his waist before settling at the small of his back. He felt the base of the scar, open and vulnerable beneath his fingertips, and felt Simon stiffen momentarily before once again sagging into their embrace. For a moment Kieren just let his fingers trace the edge of the wound, thinking of the raw openness of it, and how his cold heart must be faring much the same. But there were no staples or stitches in the world that would ever truly repair the cavity of loss in his chest.

_“We all have our scars…”_

He let Simon gently lift his hand away from the wound, didn’t complain as he ran his fingers along the scar on Kieren’s wrist. Kieren hadn’t given those words enough thought at the time. Now, though, he could feel the truth of them resonating in his bones. Mum, Dad, Jem. His Simon. Everyone had their scars. Everyone had been broken at one time or another.

And yet here they all were. Awake and present, living (though not necessarily alive), surviving.

Maybe they didn’t have to be defined by their scars.

And maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have to work so hard to hide them.

_He met his own pearly gaze in the mirror. Took in every inch of his pale, ghoulish face._

_Slowly, he smiled._

He wasn’t a monster, or a ghost. He wasn’t hideous, or horrifying. He was better than that.

He was Kieren Walker.

He could be strong. He could drop the mask and look at himself in the mirror, see himself for what he was. Just a person. Just Kieren, no more, no less. Just a man, trying to live his life by his own rules. And goddammit, was he going to live it. For Jem, for his parents. For Amy.

For himself.

 

* * *

 

On the pillow behind Simon’s head, unnoticed, his hand began to tremble.

 

* * *

 

_“Show me that you’re human, you won’t break_

_Oh love your flaws and live for your mistakes_

_Beauty’s on the surface wearing thin_

_Come closer show the marks upon your skin_

_Show me that you’re human”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it wasn't too short and disappointing, but it was about as much as a felt comfortable writing for this chapter.
> 
> I'll post the epilogue soon!
> 
> Anyone who's still reading this- sorry for everything. X


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done!
> 
> Enjoy <3

_“So when I’m ready to be bolder_

_And these cuts have healed with time_

_Comfort will rest on my shoulder_

_And I’ll bury my future behind_

_I’ll always keep you with me_

_You’ll be always on my mind_

_But there’s a shining in the shadows_

_I’ll never know unless I try_

_With every small disaster_

_I’ll let the waters still_

_Take me away to someplace real…”_

-‘Home’, Gabrielle Aplin

 

* * *

“Mornin’, Simon!” Sue beamed, glancing at the flowers in his hands with a raised eyebrow.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, clutching the stems a little tighter. “Kieren in?”

“Just a minute, love,” Sue said, leaving the front door ajar as she disappeared back into the house. “Kieren! It’s for you!”

“Coming!” a voice called from within, heavy footsteps sounding on the stairs. Simon could just _see_ the ungainly lope that accompanied the sound in his mind’s eye, and it brought an involuntary smile to his face.

It was nothing compared to the smile he gave when he finally saw him. Kieren looked… well, he looked as Kieren always looked. Which, as far as Simon was concerned, was about as perfect as any one person or thing could be.

Kieren reached for his coat (as if he bloody needed it, he was wearing at least three layers already). “Ready to go?”

“Of course,” Simon said, holding out the flowers. Kieren took them, holding them gently to his chest with a soft smile.

“Have fun, you two,” Sue said, glancing at the flowers sadly. “Say hello from us, yeah?”

“Will do, Mum,” Kieren said, ducking down to peck her on the cheek.

“Be careful!” Steve’s voice sounded from the kitchen.

“Always am, Dad!” Kieren lied smoothly. Only Simon was privy to his subtle wink as he swept out the door.

Sue gently stopped Simon with a hand on his arm, pecking him on the cheek as Kieren had done to her moments before. “Take care of each other, alright?”

Simon smiled. “Will do, Mum,” he echoed Kieren’s words lightly, delighting in the small laugh it pulled from her.

Maybe staying in Roarton wasn’t Kieren’s most terrible idea after all.

 

* * *

 

“They’re lovely,” Kieren murmured, stroking a lily’s silken petals.

“Bumped into Shirley at the florists’,” Simon said. “She had some input on the colours.”

Kieren smiled slightly. “She would have approved,” he said, bending down to lean the flowers against Amy Dyer’s tombstone. It was the same one as before, re-used from her first death. No sense letting a perfectly good stone go to waste. The only difference was the new engraving, still fresh beneath the old ones. A new set of dates; 2009-2013. Four years. She’d been given a second chance of life, and in the end she’d barely even gotten started. He straightened up, frowning at the fresh soil. “What happened to the tiger? Thought Phil said he left it here.”

Simon shrugged. “Probably came back for it. Couldn’t’ve been easy, leaving it here. Don’t s’pose he’s got much else left of her.”

“Don’t suppose anyone does,” Kieren sighed. He lowered himself awkwardly to the ground, sitting with his knees to his chest at the foot of Amy’s grave as he had at Rick’s not so long ago. He was beginning to make a habit of this.

Simon sat at his side, legs stretched out and fingers fiddling with the zipper of his coat. For once, he didn’t say anything. Probably didn’t feel there was much to say.

Kieren closed his eyes as the sun broke through the clouds, turning his face up into the light. He could feel Simon’s eyes on his face, but more than that; for a split second, he felt sure he could feel the sun, warm and golden on his skin like honey. He chased the feeling, craving it like a drowning man craves a breath of sweet winter air. It didn’t last. It was gone so quickly, he felt sure he must have simply imagined the temporary shred of warmth in his otherwise cold, grey world.

His eyes drifted open, a deep sigh rattling his lungs as he watched the first sunshine of the winter once more fade behind the clouds. He turned instead to face his companion, and his breath caught.

Simon had that look on his face again. Open, and adoring and about as honest as Kieren had ever seen him. He caught Kieren looking and turned his gaze down, disarmingly shy. “Sorry,” he mumbled, tangling his fingers in the brittle grass. “Know you didn’t want me doing that anymore…”

Kieren said nothing, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his raised knees. He was resigned to the fact that Simon might stare at him from time to time. He could let it slide once or twice.

Simon cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the tension he’d inadvertently charged the air with. “So,” he tried for light-heartedness, bumping Kieren’s shoulder in an approximation of playfulness. “You sure about this place, are you? Next train out of here’s in twenty minutes. No pressure or anything.”

Kieren smirked. “Quite sure,” his expression soured, and he turned his face away. “You don’t have to stay here, Simon. I won’t tell you what to do.”

“Don’t have to,” Simon cut in.

“If you’re not happy here…”

“You’re happy here,” Simon said. “That’s good enough for me.”

“…Thank you,” Kieren murmured.

“S’no problem,” Simon shrugged, but Kieren could see the smile tugging at his lips. “You must really love this place.”

Now it was Kieren’s turn to shrug. “It’s alright.”

He saw Simon’s raised eyebrow. It pulled a dry laugh out of him. “I’m not staying for the _scenery_ , Simon.”

“I hear Paris has some nice scenery round this time of year…” Simon said temptingly. Kieren was already shaking his head.

“I’ve got other things to stick around for,” Kieren said. “I’m not staying for the house, or the cave or the pub. Can’t even say I’m staying for Amy or Rick, although it does feel nice to be close to ‘em. Come sit with ‘em like this. But it’s not about the place. I just… I wanna stay. For Jem. And Mum and Dad,” he ducked his head. “And, y’know… you. If you’re alright with that.”

Simon was silent for a long time. Kieren looked up to find him staring again. Even more intensely than the first time around.

Kieren just cocked his head. Curiosity got the better of him. “What do you see?”

The disciple watched him closely, expression softening. It took him a few minutes to answer, but Kieren didn’t rush him- he wanted the truth, and he’d wait for it.

Finally, Simon smiled. “Life.”

Kieren rolled his eyes. “I know you like your irony, Si, but…”

“I mean it,” Simon said, in all seriousness. “You may be dead, but Kieren… I look at you, and I see life. As it was intended to be. Kieren Walker, you’re alive in a way the word doesn’t quite prepare you for,” he smiled. “S’why Amy loved you…” he ducked his head, shy again. When he spoke next, his voice was barely above a whisper. “S’why I love you.”

Kieren didn’t respond. And it didn’t look like Simon expected him too.

Kieren didn’t have an answer for him yet. A word like that wasn’t about to pass his lips, not today.

But when he looked at Simon he could see it. The possibility, perhaps even inevitability. He wasn’t in love with Simon Monroe.

But it was only a matter of time.

So even if he didn’t have the words, he let the feeling- the warm, fluttering sensation that Simon awakened in his chest- show in his eyes. He really had no reason to keep up the pretence of a mask anymore. “Thank you,” he said again, softer this time. _For saying that. For meaning it. For every time you’ve helped me, held me, made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in years. For everything._ “For staying.”

The smile Simon gave him was probably the warmest he’d ever seen it. “For you, Kieren Walker? Anything.”

 

* * *

 

_“'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone_

_Is where you go when you're alone_

_Is where you go to rest your bones_

_It's not just where you lay your head_

_It's not just where you make your bed_

_As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?_

_Home…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was at least partially worth the wait.
> 
> @Everyone still reading this- cheers for not giving up on me. You're all stars, you really are. And maybe one of these days you'll even see the sequel- although no way in hell am I posting that 'til I've got all the chapters written and am DAMN SURE there won't be anymore two-year hiatuses xD 
> 
> That'll probably be it for ITF for me for now. But everyone in this fandom rocks, and I still live in hope that one day our beloved show will rise again <3


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